


Waking Nightmare

by insainity



Series: The Loyal Wolf [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, No Smut, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Canon, Romance, Seriously why does the POV keep changing, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insainity/pseuds/insainity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fenris awoke with a strangled shout, his bloodshot green eyes roving frantically about the room. He sat for a few moments longer while he waited for the frenzied hammering of his heart to subside.</p>
<p>Hawke was alive.</p>
<p>There was still the possibility that he had gone mad, that his desperate mind had created a fiction for him to cling to. His eyes landed on the opened letter. Where was it that Varric had been writing from?</p>
<p>The heart of the Inquisition. Skyhold."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet another LI goes to Skyhold to save Hawke story.<br/>And then my hand slipped and it became a Fenris character study too idk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Everything hurt.

He felt weighed down by a cloying pressure that began in his chest and seemed to spread throughout his body like an insidious poison. A pain with a coporeal source; a twisted muscle, an oozing wound, even the ache of the markings, _that_ he could have dealt with. But this, there had been no horror or humiliation during his life in bondage that had ever made him shut down so completely as this.

The thick fog rolling by outside the window made it feel as if nothing else at all existed outside of the room, and as far as he cared nothing did. The grey sunlight that sifted in caught a clutter of empty wine bottles set upon a roughly hewn end table, casting speckles of red light across a slightly tattered letter marked with the seal of the Merchant's Guild.

His greatsword lay discarded on the floor beside a wardrobe with a now mostly splintered door hanging off its hinges. If the patrons and staff of the inn had heard the commotion no one had dared to come investigate. As it were he had long since fallen silent, sitting slumped in the corner by the window where he had been for the better part of two days. Attempting to simply stop existing was preferable to allowing the grief to overtake him.

He had found something he had never thought to hope for, had never even thought to want, and with it the beginnings of a new life. But like so many other things it had been stripped from him. He blamed himself for leaving so much left unsaid between them, and now Hawke had gone and walked into the Void where he would have gladly followed if he only could. It was with these embittered thoughts that Fenris had fallen into a fitful slumber against the wall with the lines of lyrium tracing his flesh slowly coming alive.

 

\----  
  


He had been dreaming of Hawke near constantly for the past few weeks and had, at the time, refused to take it as an ill omen. As he observed Hawke now, suspended by snaking, silvery strands that somewhat resembled a spider's web, the fog of dreaming began to lift from his mind.

That's when he realized he was in the Fade.

Fenris felt his jaw clench, or at least imagined he did, if he was to believe how being concious in the Fade worked. He considered that the vision before him could be a demon's trap, or it could be a dream afterall and he was just apparently determined to drive himself mad. Hawke's head was lowered, his eyes glazed over, and as Fenris drew closer he became aware that the mage was softly whispering to himself.

"I'm sorry, it's all my fault-"

Phantasimal spirits loomed around Hawke's trappings, taking form with his thoughts. For only an instant Fenris could glimpse what Hawke was seeing in his tormentors; Leandra, ghoulishly stitched and animated by a deranged blood mage; Carver, his skin and eyes discolored with the Darkspawn taint, bound to those who coerced Hawke into releasing Corypheus. The third was a dark-haired young woman Fenris didn't recognize, her body crushed and blood running from her nose.

"It's all my fault, I'm sorry, it's all my fault-"

Hawke repeated the words like a mantra.

Fenris' voice carried an ethereal reverb when he called out to him. Hawke stirred, groggily raising his face as recognition slowly cleared his glassy stare, "You-" gasped Hawke, "Fenris. It's you-"

Through will alone Fenris brought his dreaming form up to Hawke's level in complete disregard of the shifting terrain. He raised a hand to Hawke's cheek only to watch it pass right through him, the captive mage smiling sadly in return as he strained against the webs to lean closer.

"I'm sorry," said Hawke, and Fenris was worried he'd just continue in his mindless mutterings, "I left you behind. I'm- I'm so sorry, love. Please. You _can_ go on without me.”

Back in that bleak room Fenris had ceased to function under the weight of his grief, shutting it all out to protect himself from it. Now everything surged to the surface in a great rush that at first manifested itself as anger, the emotion he was still most comfortable with, “ _Venhedis_ , Hawke!" he practically snarled, "I will not allow you to do this!" As Fenris ineffectually grasped at the webs holding his lover, trying in vain to pull them apart, Hawke slowly lowered his head and said no more.

Anger was soon replaced by unfamiliar desperation, " _Please_ , Hawke," Fenris pleaded in a tone that surprised even himself, "I _need_ you. Tell me how to free you from this!" He tore again at the webs, a blue lyrium glow igniting from his arms.

Suddenly, he became aware of a presense. It was a forboding chill on the edge of the mind, an icey grip around the heart, a crushing pressure on the ribs that choked out all but the base animalistic instinct to survive. An enormous shape lumbered forth behind the webs holding Hawke, its grotesque form melting in from the shadows. From seemingly every corner of the creature's realm came a booming, inhuman voice.  
  


YOUR BITE WILL NOT AVAIL YOU HERE, LITTLE WOLF

 

Fenris awoke with a strangled shout, his bloodshot green eyes roving frantically about the room. He sat for a few moments longer while he waited for the frenzied hammering of his heart to subside.

Hawke was alive.

There was still the possibility that he had gone mad, that his desperate mind had created a fiction for him to cling to. His eyes landed on the opened letter. Where was it that Varric had been writing from?

The heart of the Inquisition. Skyhold.

His fingers scrabbled against the walls as he struggled to stand, shaking the feeling back into his leaden feet as he went. After long hours spent in a near catatonic state he was now moving with renewed purpose, stalking about the room to collect his meager affects. He looked again to the letter and after a moment's hesitation snatched it up, shoving it into one of the pouches on his belt.

He donned his familiar gauntlets, wrapped his cloak securely around his shoulders, and soon had the comforting weight of his greatsword at his back. Without so much as a last look around he threw open the door and loped down the stairs, heedless of the wary glances cast by the patrons as he left the inn, vanishing like a ghost into the dreary morning fog.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Hawke and Lavellan will only be referred to by surname in this story so you can easily project your own. Though I'll still be characterizing them the way I see/play them. Make of that what you will (and yes I totally believe Fenris would just continue to call him "Hawke".)
> 
> So this is my first time writing fanfiction. I'm a little embarrassed to be doing it at all if I'm honest, but this is what Dragon Age has done to me. Hopefully someone else will enjoy my indulgent madness.


	2. Old Friend

It began as a relatively quiet day at Skyhold. Inquisitor Lavellan sat reading an excerpt of Varric's latest work, vetting it for possible implications of impropriety in his telling of her life's story. The affable dwarf sat across from her at his usual work table in the main hall, feet up and sorting through various missives. It all felt comfortable and familiar, and she supposed it should, although the thought of Skyhold being her home now was still incredibly surreal.

Few knew that she didn't share the Inquisition's core beliefs and most who did know weren't overly concerned. She hadn't intended to become some great leader when this all began; she had only wanted to stop the world from crumbling because, by happenstance, she was the only one who could. Now here she was judging the wicked, giving commands and under the encouraging gazes of Cassandra and her advisors unable to admit she'd been making it up as she went along.

"Inquisitor!" A soldier cried out as he scrambled into the main hall out of breath and plainly terrified. Lavellan raised her head, slightly alarmed but not terribly interested. There would always be a bustle of minor issues to be dealt with and even she had to admit everything now felt minor compared to destroying a would-be god and sealing the Breach.

"Yes?" She asked kindly, trying not to let her irritation show as she tore herself away from Varric's surprisingly engaging writing. The dwarf gave a chuckle, "Work never ceases, Inquisitor.”

"A strange elf has arrived at the gates and is _aggressively_ requesting an audience with your grace and ser Tethras!"

The Inquisitor's heart leapt into her throat and for a fleeting, foolish moment she thought perhaps Solas had returned. But she knew her soldiers would know him.

"An elf you say?" as Varric rounded the table to question the soldier Lavellan imagined she might have heard a hint of trepidation in his voice, "What's this elf look like?"

The soldier swallowed, "A warrior, ser, with strange markings that--" It was then the soldier was interrupted by a second and third bursting through the doors, both grasping at sword wounds. "That's no elf! It's a demon!" wailed one of the injured soldiers. Lavellan reached for her daggers just as a dark shape bathed in a blue aura and easily carrying a massive blade over one shoulder appeared ascending the stairs, several injured soldiers in its wake, several more in pursuit.

"Oh shit," Varric sighed, "I was afraid of this."

"What!?" she demanded, fixing him with a sharp look.

"Look! Elf!” Varric bleated, “No, not you-" he quickly added with a glance to Lavellan as she raised a quizical brow, "I know you're upset but we can talk about--" his pleading proved futile as Fenris descended upon them and Varric found himself unceremoniously lifted into the air with a steel clawed gauntlet wrapped around his neck.

Soon the pursuing soldiers had caught up and were all brandishing their swords toward the incensed intruder, who in turn paid them no mind. Fenris' large green eyes were instead locked on Varric, with his teeth bared in feral rage. Varric sheepishly mopped his brow with the back of his sleeve, the elf's grip wasn't hard enough to strangle him.

"So. You got my letter,” Varric quipped grimly before glancing around at the spooked soldiers, "It's alright! Everyone just- just put your damn swords away!"

" _You_ brought him here," Fenris snarled, " _You_ brought him to these people who--" Varric sighed as his attacker struggled to find his words and then slowly lowered both the dwarf and his blade to the floor. The swords of the Inquisition were still trained upon Fenris, carefully following his movements.

Varric pat the steel clawed hand as it became removed from his neck, he then looked imploringly at the others, "See? Everyone's calm now."

There was a brief silence and then Lavellan, whose mind had been sent reeling by the entire confounding affair, regained her senses. "Do you _know_ this man, Varric?" She demanded, not having yet sheathed her blades. Fenris only stood with his head bowed, his hair brushing forward to hide his eyes. His rage had seemingly evaporated for the time being.

Varric sidled closer to Lavellan and said in a quiet, conspiratorial tone, "He's Hawke's lover..."

Realization struck her and she finally lowered her weapons, struggling not to allow the deep pang of guilt she felt show in her face. Upon seeing the Inquisitor lower her guard many of the soldiers present followed suit, although a few of the more cautious among them kept their eyes and blades both on the unpredictable warrior as he remained still as a statue, staring forlornly at the floor.

Lavellan wet her dry lips and began to say " _Ir abelas_ " only to be interrupted as Cassandra next marched through the doors, eyes scanning the hall as she quickly assessed the situation. "What is the meaning of this?" asked the Seeker in her usual commanding manner.

Varric raised his hands and offered an apologetic grin, "Relax, Seeker, my old friend here just gave everyone a bit of a scare."

"A bit?" Cassandra scoffed incredulously, "We have injured outside, he's directly attacked us. Just who _is_ this 'friend', Varric?”

Varric fixed her with a knowing look, "Fenris."

It was all he had to say. Cassandra's eyes widened slightly, but she betrayed nothing more. It wasn't too long ago that she had spent hours taking in Varric's account of the Champion of Kirkwall. She knew the elf before her even if only by reputation, just as she knew what he was to the Champion.

"Hawke is alive," Fenris stated darkly, abruptly breaking the awkward silence.

"Elf- _Fenris_ ," said Varric with a grave look of concern in his eyes, "I know this is hard for you, but-"

"I have seen him," Fenris continued, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand to his forehead, "Every time I sleep I have seen him. He remains in the Fade, captive to a demon."

Lavellan bit her lip, guilt once again welling up in her chest. Back with her clan the most difficult choices she had to make involved the pursuit of game and for not the first time she cursed that the Keeper had chosen her to investigate the Conclave. But perhaps her clan's leader had seen something in her, the same thing all these shem around her saw, which she had yet to entirely see in herself.

She had chosen to let Hawke cover their retreat. He was adamant, and it was a heroic sacrifice worthy of his legend, but in that frantic moment she hadn't given any consideration to what the Champion may be leaving behind. She certainly hadn't since considered that he yet survived.

"Perhaps we can discuss this somewhere more quiet," she offered, casting a stern look to the soldiers, who all at last relaxed their blade arms. Varric nodded in agreement, thumbing to the door over his shoulder. Fenris followed Varric and the Inquistor wordlessly as Cassandra trailed behind the trio, steeling herself for the possibility of felling the infamous lyrium ghost if he were to get out of control.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we ever miraculously get the Rescue-Hawke-From-The-Fade DLC I and many others desperately want, I have a feeling each DA2 LI would want to throttle Varric just a bit.


	3. The Rambling Boy

Lavellan gave a wistful sigh through her nose as she scanned the unfinished mural on the walls of the chamber. She had watched Solas sometimes as he painted it in his quiet way, offering only a mysterious smile when asked what he was so studiously recording. Cassandra leaned against the wall by the door with her arms folded, quietly keeping a careful watch on Fenris. At Varric's prompting Fenris had left his sword against the wall and taken a seat in the chair by the desk in the center of the room. Fenris was cagey and unapproachable at the best of times, but with his defenses now somewhat lowered Varric could see how worn his friend looked. He was more gaunt than Varric recalled, with ashen skin and dark circles under his eyes.

"Andraste's ass, elf," Varric balked, eliciting another curious look from Lavellan at the seemingly impersonal nickname, "When's the last time you had any real rest?"

"Weeks," Replied Fenris, staring blankly ahead. He relaxed a bit more in the chair, pushing out his bare feet which were raw with travel over harsh roads and snow. It was likely only the etched lyrium that had kept them from turning black with the cold. There was another long pause until Varric finally asked what no one else seemed willing to: “Alright. So how do you know what you're seeing isn't _just_ dreams?”

Fenris sighed softly, “Yes, I had considered that I might have gone mad in my grief,” he paused, seemingly annoyed when no one argued with that, “I had been dreaming of Hawke with more frequency before receiving Varric's letter. And then after...” he waved a hand irritably as if to banish the thought, “I _know_ the Fade. I've been there with Hawke. I've... been _put_ there.” He sneered, recalling the times Hadriana would manipulate the lyrium while he slept, forcing him to be the all too aware prey of demons.

It was Lavellan's turn to speak up. She may have been a hunter but she had _mostly_ paid attention to the things her Keeper and the clan's storyteller said, “But you're no mage. How could you experience the Fade outside of dreaming on your own?”

Fenris fixed her with a bitter look, knocked aside his cloak, unfastened one gauntlet and rolled back his sleeve. There were white marks all along his arms, matching the ones Lavellan had noticed on his face and neck, “Lyrium is burned into my flesh, more than enough to accomplish it.”

“No need for the dramatics, elf. They've all read my Tale of the Champion.”

“You did not explain it well.”

“What?” asked Varric defensively with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I said you have glowing tattoos, a talent for tearing out internal organs, and lyrium's involved! What's more to know?”

"If only Solas were here," Lavellan interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track, "If you're truly seeing the Champion in the Fade he would be able to tell." Although she wished the missing mage's presence for more than one reason.

"I can help," came a quiet, eager voice.

All heads turned toward the young blond man now standing at the far end of the room, who offered a shy glance from beneath his wide-brimmed hat in return. Lavellan was unsure if Cole had been there the entire time or if he had... _appeared._

He crossed the room and cautiously approached Fenris as if the elf were a wounded, cornered animal that might bite. As Cole bent forward to examine him Fenris frowned and leaned back with a disconcerted grunt, "There's so much hurt,” Cole said, “Rage, rancor, ragged and raw, but soothed now by something, some _one_ , else..."

Cole shuffled back and walked a circle around the chair, head tilting and eyes distant as he began to ramble in way that was by now familiar to Lavellan and her companions, "- _how could he leave me, doesn't he trust me, he is where he is now because I was not with him-_ ”

Fenris jumped at the sound of his own thoughts repeated back to him aloud.  He might have leapt entirely out of the chair had he the strength.

"Stop it."

Cole tilted his head the opposite way, his pale blue eyes boring into Fenris, “It's not that he doesn't trust you. He loves you. He doesn't want you to die like the others.”

"What is this?" Fenris growled, looking upon Cole with renewed wariness.

“Look, the kid's a bit different but he uh- well...” Varric faltered in his explanation, unsure how Fenris would react to learning Cole's exact nature.

"I'm not a mage," Cole declared, again as if reading Fenris' thoughts. Perhaps he had. “I can hear him, your hurt touches his,” Cole continued, speaking as if he had clearly explained himself, “- _dark, trapped, here but where, so hard to think, so hard to remember-_ Your hearts are joined, a resonant melody, because of that you can use the song to find him there.” Fenris glanced around at the others, mollified as he observed they all were taking what the rambling boy said seriously. If not for that he might have reconsidered that he'd gone about as mad as Cole appeared to be.

“So I guess that's it,” sighed Varric, “Nug-humping shit how are we going to get Hawke out of there?”

“You are not one who typically fails to grasp the obvious,” Fenris said to Varric as he shooed Cole away and then turned to glare pointedly at Lavellan, “Do what it was you did to bodily enter the Fade and we will retrieve Hawke!”

“It's not that simple!” Lavellan protested.

Fenris scoffed and gripped the arms of the chair, pulling himself to his feet with some effort. As he stalked toward her Lavellan couldn't help but muse that he moved with the poise of his namesake, it faintly reminded her of Solas somehow.

“It matters not!” Fenris spat, “You will take responsibility for this, _Inquisitor_ , you are the one who left Hawke to die! Who involved him in this!”

Lavellan crossed her arms and glared back at him, refusing to be intimidated, “He was already involved! Or did you forget how Corypheus was unleashed?”

“I was _there_. Nothing could have been done! Or did you wish to punish Hawke for it!?”

Lavellan threw up her hands, “That wasn't my intent, no! Please, _lethallin,_ ” the livid elf appeared unimpressed with her attempt to appeal to their commonality, “I _do_ take full responsibility for what happened to the Champion. But I need you to cooperate with us and be patient-”

“You would call for patience when each moment we delay could mean Hawke's death!”

Varric hurriedly made his way over to the two with his hands up in a diplomatic gesture, “I want to get Hawke back as much as you do but we can't go traipsing our merry way to the Fade just this instant. Besides, _you_ need to get some sleep before we do _any_ thing!”

“I do not,” Fenris grumbled petulantly with nary a glance at the dwarf.

“-w _eary to the bone, cold biting skin, feet aching sore, must get to him, must free him_ -”

“Now's not the time, kid,” Varric said with a quieting wave towards Cole.

By now Lavellan was becoming increasingly frustrated. She'd hardly been given a moment to think from the time Fenris had stormed in and accosted Varric, and his singular focus on an immediate solution was causing the entire conversation to become stymied by heightened tensions and rising emotions. She had no idea how she had even opened the way to the Fade at Adamant in the first place, or what it might take to recreate the event; she needed time and space in order to formulate a plan.

“Listen to your friend,” Lavellan scolded, shouldering past Fenris, “For the time being I'll-”

Suddenly Lavellan's vision spun with swirls of blue light as she found herself slammed back against the wall. The murals stained into the rough stone blurred together in a cacophony of color, painted visions of ancient elves, wolves, a figure with a knife dancing past her eyes-- she shook her head to clear it.

“Stand down, Fenris!” Cassandra barked, the scrape of her unsheathing blade echoing through the chamber.

Fenris only glowered at the Seeker while he held his shimmering palm over Lavellan's heart. Deeming him no uncertain threat Cassandra lunged forth and unflinchingly brought her sword down upon the elf. Fenris leapt back to dodge the blow, releasing his grip on Lavellan as he did so. The Inquisitor recovered gracefully, planting both feet firmly on the floor as she drew her own blades. Cassandra whirled into her back swing and Fenris pivoted to one side with supernatural speed, his markings flaring once more as he shot an incandescent hand through the steel of the Seeker's blade. Cassandra quickly disarmed and rolled to the side, his clawed gauntlet just barely missing her head.

“I don't want to fight you!” Lavellan said, circling toward Fenris with her blades at the ready.

“Then stop wasting my time!” Fenris shouted in return.

Suddenly Fenris convulsed, hugging his arms to his body as he doubled over with a shocked cry. Red hot pain surged through the markings, the edges of which felt as if they were scorching into his skin all over again. Gasping in askance his eyes finally found Cassandra, who was staring hard at him with one hand raised.

“That was a small taste,” Cassandra explained as she cautiously edged toward him, retrieving her sword from the floor, “Continue to attack our people and I will not hesitate to ignite the lyrium in your body. Not even I know what that might do to you.”

Fenris shot a furious glare at her, “If you think for an instant that I will back down-” he paused as he heard the familiar creaks and catches of Bianca unfolding.

“Just stop, elf, I'd hate to see you get yourself killed before we even go save Hawke,” the dwarf seemed uncharacteristically stern as he trained a bolt on Fenris and gave a meaningful upward nod of his head.

Fenris turned his gaze toward the top of the chamber, it seemed that their scuffle hadn't gone unnoticed and a crowd of people were now gathered at the rails on the second floor. Although some only appeared to be researchers there were a number of spectators in protective attire, armed with swords or staves; the Inquisition had indeed grown into a veritable military force. Just as Fenris was beginning to question the merits of his pride a clambering of boots on stone steps was heard followed by the door behind him bursting open. Before the elf could even turn around a dark hand planted itself atop his head and released a burst of entropic energy. Fenris immediately collapsed in a dead faint, it was only Cole's quick move to catch his shoulders that prevented his skull from cracking against the stone floor.

Dorian looked rather pleased with himself as he placed his hands on his hips. “Sleeping spell!” the mage announced, “You're welcome.”

Varric couldn't help but snicker in return, shaking his head as he folded Bianca and slung her back over his shoulder. Lavellan slumped against the wall and was unable to stop her own amused snort from escaping her. Cassandra only sighed in disgust and rolled her eyes as the tension in the room quickly dissipated, “Well Varric,” she said as she sheathed her sword, “perhaps Fenris will have regained his senses after some rest.”

“Nah,” Varric replied with a grin, “I'm afraid our broody friend is always like this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to popular fanon belief Varric's nickname for Fenris is actually "elf". And I'm nothing if not a pedantic nerd.
> 
> 3/29/15 - Tweaked this chapter a little bit to better clarify a few things.


	4. Nightmare

“I was just wondering if you realize how much I love you.”

Fenris feels his face grow hot. It isn't the first time Hawke has said something like this to him, even spoken in teasing tones it still riles him.

Ever since they'd met it's been this way: Hawke smiling broadly, saying whatever foolish thing pops into his head and Fenris' dour countenance cracking in the face of it. They're sitting together in an abandoned watch tower on some forgotten old trail, legs dangling over the side of a half-collasped floor as they listen to the drizzle of rain pattering against the overgrowth outside. There's no gaping chasm that has sundered the sky, no letter from Varric drawing Hawke away to Skyhold. This is before all of that, when they're quite happily fugitives together far from the madness of Kirkwall.

“I do. Yet I fear I am inadequate at expressing myself in like kind,” Fenris mumbles, contemplating the dry bread in his hands.

Hawke snickers as he brushes Fenris' damp hair out of his eyes, “Only you could so expressively say you can't express yourself.”

Fenris sighs in frustration, “I'm serious, Hawke. I feel... _broken_. Such things should come more easily to me.”

“It's alright that they don't,” says Hawke, staring out into the rain, “It's alright if they never do. Either way, I'm a patient man, as you well know,” he grins when Fenris gives a inarticulate snort in response.

“You'd truly be fine with that? If I never learn how to live as a free man?”

“You _are_ living as a free man, Fenris,” Hawke answers through a mouthful of bread, “There's no one set path everyone has to take. We're all products of our pasts, our experiences shape who we are.”

“I'd loathe to think my life as a slave has shaped who I am,” Fenris mumbles in return.

“I wouldn't be who I am now if not for the things I've gone through, both the good and the bad,” Hawke's smile becomes a bit more strained and Fenris knows from experience he must be thinking of his family.

There's a trill of birdsong in the silence that passes between them.

“And besides,” Hawke says turning to him with a serious look on his face, “I always know just how you feel when you look at me with those big puppy eyes.”

A smirk crosses his lips as Fenris playfully punches Hawke in the shoulder, “And now you've ruined the moment. As always.”

He allows Hawke to draw him up into a crushing hug as the Champion laughs heartily. Fenris feels his eyelids droop as he takes in the dulcet sounds of Hawke's voice, pressing himself to the comfort of the man's warmth. Then the shadows seem to ebb and flow behind his eyelids, a feeling of vertigo accompanies the thump of a heartbeat wracking in his ears. He's suddenly aware of the pulse of a heart squeezed between his fingers. Hawke croaks his name and pulls back from him, his eyes swimming with pain and betrayal. It's then that Fenris realizes his hand is phased through Hawke's chest.

He gasps and attempts to extract himself only to feel his fingers disobey and his grip tighten. The watchtower is gone, they're now standing in the filthy, smokey interior of the Hanged Man. He can taste the stale air, feel the chill of the City of Chains against his skin and the crude paintings of tormented slaves on the walls almost shimmer as they're thrown into sharp relief.

“Very good, my pet.”

It's the voice that will always fill him with dread right down to his bones and he hazards a glance over his shoulder. Danarius stands there, gnarled fingers steepled as he smirks with perverse pride.

Fenris blinks and the cold is gone, replaced with a punishing wet heat. They're standing in the jungles of Seheron, so real that he can smell the fragrance of the large, bright flowers swaying in the breeze. The mists swirling around his feet clear away to reveal the mangled corpses of the Fog Warriors strewn across the undergrowth, the rivulets of their spilled blood creating a sharp contrast against the greenery. He blinks again and they're back in the Hanged Man, the bodies of the Fog Warriors are now the bodies of Aveline, Donnic, Isabela, Sebastian and Varric, dead-eyed with gaping holes punched precisely where their hearts should be.

“Finish it, Fenris. It's time to come home,” Danarius drawls, steel grey eyes intense as he regards Fenris in that posessive way he hates. Fenris turns back to Hawke, who has now slumped against his shoulder. A blind panic begins to tear through him as he feels the life rapidly draining out of the man he loves. Suddenly a new voice pierces the din of his terror, all other sounds abruptly muting in its presence.

“It's wrong! This isn't how it went, Leto!”

He gapes in the direction of the voice that's called out to him. It's his sister, Varania, cowering against the wall and staring at him with pleading eyes that match his own. Of all the people his mind could have conjured to break the hold of this dream--

That's right. _A_ _d r e  a  m .  .   ._

  


He was vaguely aware of the lyrium in his body bursting to life as the scene before him turned to smoke and vanished, stranding him in an oppressive dark void. On the very edge of hearing there was a faint chorus of gasps, followed by someone exclaiming ' _fascinating!'_ The voices faded and were replaced with the sensation of sinking slowly through inky black waters, until he finally emerged in a now all too familiar place: the unreal landscape with putrid green waters and rocks the color of pitch. The Black City loomed somewhere overhead in a dizzying sky littered with the remnants of dreams and memories, an echo of the scars left by Breach pulsating at its zenith.

It occurred to him then that his nightmare had been his entry into the creature's realm, or perhaps it had meant to serve as a barrier to keep him from it. The latter proved likely to be true as he made to run to Hawke only to be halted by a monstrous spider's claw piercing the ground before him. The demon pulled its massive form before him, nearly blotting out the sky and obscuring his view of where Hawke hung motionless in its webs.

DETERMINED, LITTLE WOLF, YET YOU CAN ACCOMPLISH NOTHING

“Then why stop me?” Fenris growled defiantly, crouching low to the ground. He'd often heard stories of fade walking back in the Imperium and idly wondered if he could take on the form of a wolf here, if only to spite the thing. The amusing thought at least served to dampen the fear pulsing through him. As he observed the thick venom oozing from the creature's mandibles Fenris was certain he would have startled awake by now, as he had each time the demon approached him, but something was evidently holding him in the Fade.

YOUR FEAR IS MORE PALPABLE THAN HIS

As the creature's mind-rending voice echoed all around him Fenris suddenly found himself staring up at Danarius. The old man gestured to him, flourishing the ornate sleeves of his robe, a wolfish grin creasing his features.

“You think conjuring a dead man will rattle me?” Fenris asked unsteadily, straightening in his stance in an effort to mask that it had.

“Dead?” asked the specter of Danarius with a derisive chuckle, “As if I would not have ways to survive your tantrums. You will never be free of me, my pet, as much as you may think you wish it. As much as you may try to replace me with another mage, another man, another _master_ ,” Fenris stiffened as Danarius reached out to him, gnarled fingers stroking along his cheek and tracing across his lips.

WOULD YOU NOT TRADE YOURSELF FOR HAWKE?

“I know better than to make a deal with a demon,” Fenris growled, pulling himself away from the vision of his former master. Even now he had the brief urge to submit, to obey, to be compliant. Even now a small, buried part of him cherished the familiarity of Danarius' control. He decided the best use of his self-hatred would be as a shield against the beast's taunting.

YOU ONCE DID

Fenris cursed under his breath. It was not his proudest moment, a demon of Pride preying upon his fears and insecurities. At the time he still felt hunted, even hiding in Kirkwall. At the time what he felt for Hawke confused and concerned him. Although it was within the somniari boy's dream it shamed him to think he had ever raised a blade against Hawke... and to think Hawke had forgiven him. Beneath all the flippant remarks and bad jokes was a man far too kind for his own good.

WOULD YOU RELINQUISH YOUR FREEDOM FOR HIM NOW?

“I cannot trust that you would free Hawke, and there is nothing you could offer that would compell me to promise myself to you,” Fenris waved his hand angrily and began to walk away. To where he had no idea, but he knew that he had to find some way to wake himself up. He could do nothing for Hawke in his sleeping state and he had a sense that this demon was incredibly powerful.

WHAT OF YOUR MEMORIES

The blasted creature's voice failed to change in distance or volume no matter how far he tried to move away from its main body. “I have long accepted they are lost to me,” Fenris proclaimed firmly, “I have no need of them.”

AH, BUT THEY ARE NOT LOST

“Simply locked away,” Danarius appeared again, continuing the creature's thought. As unnerving as it was to be plagued by the dead magister it did expose the artifice that this manifestation of him was only an extension of the demon. Fenris fixed a glare on his face and strengthened his resolve.

“I care not--”

“Ah, but you were ever so inquisitive. Contentious even, at times. No beaten down dog like the others who fought for my favor. Why is it you think I called you a wolf?”

The phantom of Danarius advanced on him and in spite of himself Fenris took several steps back, “But as with any wild thing one must forge a suitible chain in order to tame it. Questions of your family's well-being, thoughts for your fellows you bested in the arena, well, they were distractions. Better to cut out all that was unncessary. Danarius made it part of the ritual, to seal it all away, so that all you had left

WAS HIM

Fenris stumbled, his eyes widening as the creature's conjured Danarius gradually became more inhuman, the whites of the eyes blackening and a too-wide grin spreading across its face as the carapce of arachnid limbs caught the sickly light behind him. Even so, the revelation shook Fenris to his core; he had always thought it was the trauma, the agony that had wiped away all he was before. But to know it was yet another thing stolen from him by this man, this _mage_ , by _magic_ \--

YOU DESIRE YOUR MEMORIES AND YET FEAR THEIR RETURN, MOST CURIOUS

Fenris abruptly changed directions, knowing it was a useless effort not only to escape the creature's reach but to even attempt to traverse the landscape that seemed to continually shift behind a blanket of fog. But he could no longer fight the overwhelming urge to get away.

RUNNING, ALWAYS RUNNING, THE FEAR OF YOUR MEMORIES IS WHAT ONCE DROVE YOU FROM THIS MAN YOU NOW SO DESPERATELY SEEK TO RETRIEVE

The taunting was beginning to wear him down now. He squeezed his eyes shut, or at least his mind told him that's what he was doing; it didn't help, there was still a sea of sickly green behind his dreaming eyes. He had no recollection of ever having to instruct himself to wake up, even his worst nightmares ended when he became agitated to the point of physically lashing out, so why was it so difficult right now? He could suddenly feel webbing snaking up his own legs, rooting him into place. He tried to tell himself it wasn't real, that he had no corporeal form here, but the damnable monster persisted.

OR IS IT THAT YOU DOUBT MY POWER, LITTLE WOLF

He could hear a touch of malicious mirth in the creature's deafening voice as the landscape vanished and he was plunged back into utter darkness. Just as the panic began to well up within him he felt a wrenching in his mind, and he instinctively put his hands to his head as he was suddeny assaulted by visions of memories.

  


A dark-haired elven women stands before him, gingerly wiping blood from his face with an old rag, “Oh Leto, it kills me every time you go out there.”

He hears himself chuckle, and when he speaks his voice is youthful, missing its ragged edge, “I will not lose, this is too important.”

The woman averts her eyes, her lips pressing thin, “We would be free, and you would tie yourself to a magister.”

He sees an unblemished hand that must be his own reach out and gently squeeze her frail shoulder.

“I'll be the bodyguard of one of the most powerful men in Minrathous. I'll want for _nothing_ , mother.”

  


He fought even harder than before to wake himself up, to escape the recollections ripped savagely through the wall in his mind behind which his past hid. He didn't want to see this, he didn't want to know this. His sister's words spoken barely two years prior flashed through his mind:  
  


“ _You wanted it. You competed for it.”_  
  


He's breathing hard, another young elven man lying dead at his feet. He had been a friend, once or twice they'd gone to bed, but Leto has cut him down all the same. This is too important. This is for his family. He swallows down his revulsion and lifts his longsword triumphantly above his head, the crimson blood rolling off the blade and down his arm. He feels a brash grin tug at the corners of his lips, tossing his dark hair out of his eyes as he takes a moment to bask in the adulation of the crowd. He then turns and bows to where Danarius presides over the trials, briefly meeting the magister's lascivious gaze.

Anything for his family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So was this entire chapter just an excuse to explore my interpretation of the dynamic between Fenris and Danarius in case this is the only fic I ever write?
> 
> Probably. 
> 
> I decided to do the dreams/flashbacks with a switch to present tense rather than assault the readers' eyes with italics. Not entirely sure it was successful.


	5. A Spot of Dinner

“Maker's balls, Sparkler, take that spell off of him! He's going to hurt himself!”

Varric had been watching over his friend for several hours when Dorian arrived to make incessant queries regarding the nature of the elf's markings. Varric had considered just inventing some convincing bullshit to pass the time but then Fenris had lit up like a candle and the two men were soon preoccupied with their struggle to restrain the elf as he thrashed in the apparent throes of a night terror. After a few failed attempts which saw him slammed into the wall at least once, Dorian had managed to hold tight to Fenris' wrists while Varric had resorted to practically throwing himself over the elf's chest.

“I forgot how blighted _strong_ he is!”

“Yes most curious for such a lithe frame-”, Dorian found himself unable to continue care of a fist colliding with his jaw. Thankfully they had had the sense to remove Fenris' spiked gauntlets when he was placed in the small but private sleeping quarters. Stumbling back Dorian raised one hand to lift the sleeping spell, the other rubbing at the bruise forming on his chin. Finally Fenris stilled, although not before taking out a sizable chunk of the headboard when his hand unconsciously phased through it, his eyelids fluttering as he slowly came back into the waking world.

Varric sighed with relief, and then turned a nervous glance to Dorian, “So, uh, thanks Sparkler, but you don't have to stick around.”

“Quite the contrary, my stout friend, I'm eager to learn about those markings of his,” Dorian announced as he bent over a small mirror on a nearby table in order to assess the damage to his face and smooth out his mustache.

“- _the song in the skin seared, sundered, split-”_

“Hrmph, your funeral. Maybe literally,” Varric murmured.

“ _-fragments, fractured, they can't fit back together, the wolf, the hidden one-_ ”

“Hey kid, aren't there other people you could help _?_ ” Varric asked as he eyed Cole where the boy sat cross-legged atop a nearby chest of drawers. He'd been sitting on various pieces of furniture not meant to be sat upon muttering in a constant stream of consciousness ever since they had brought Fenris into the room.

“I can't help it. He's louder than everyone else. He sings.”

“Er, right...”

Fenris squinted against the light, his eyes slowly scanning the unfamiliar room. He first saw the rambling boy and immediately felt a spark of agitation. Then his entire body tensed once he laid eyes upon the swarthy man in ornate robes who carried himself with all the pompous airs of the Tevinter upper class.

“Greetings!” said Dorian with an oblivious grin, “I do apologize for earlier, although Varric _was_ quite insistent that you get some sleep. Oh yes, and you were attacking the Inquisitor, not the wisest move. I'm Dorian of House Pavus by the by,” Dorian gave a small bow before extending a hand to Fenris, who in turn regarded the mage as if he were offering a venomous snake and then glared at Varric as if the dwarf was somehow to blame.

“Why is a _magister_ here!?”

“Altus!” Dorian exclaimed with a deep sigh and a dramatic slump of his shoulders as he let his arm fall back to his side, “What is it with you Southerners and always making that presumption?”

“I am not a Southerner.”

“But of course! You're a fellow 'Vint, aren't you? I can hear it in your accent, friend.”

“I am not your _friend!”_

Even as he struggled to bite back his laughter Varric could sense Fenris' growing irritation, which typically resulted in wanton violence if pushed too far, and so he smoothly interjected, “Now that you're all bright-eyed and brooding how about something to eat, elf?”

Fenris frowned deeply, “There is no time, we should be finding a way to get to Hawke.”

“ _-nothing will keep me from you-_ ”

Varric raised a hand, “You've got a one track mind, elf. Her Inquizitorialness is working on it, we might have a way right here in Skyhold. But you won't be any good to anyone if you keel over from starvation first.”

Fenris' mouth twisted to the right as his eyes darted to the left. He seemed to internally deliberate on the matter before nodding curtly and climbing out of the bed. Noticing his gauntlets were missing he was moments away from shouting accusations at Varric when the dwarf held a small red piece of cloth out to him with a knowing nod and an affectionate smirk. Fenris took it and moodily murmured his thanks, carefully tying the cloth to his wrist.

“I could do well with a spot of dinner,” Dorian said, making clear his intentions to tag along.

Fenris abruptly paused and narrowed his eyes at the Tevinter nobleman, “You cast magic on me,” it was less a question and more of an accusation.

“Well, yes, but as I previously pointed out you _were_ attacking the Inquisitor,” Dorian replied in a blithe manner that gave every indication he didn't realize there was a problem.

Fenris practically growled, opening his mouth to speak again before catching a pleading glance from Varric. Recalling that it was likely unwise to provoke another fight in the headquarters of the world's fastest growing army he closed his eyes and gave himself a few moments to calm down until he managed to grit out, “It.. is not appreciated. Do it again and we will likely come to blows.” It didn't matter that only Varric knew 'coming to blows' with Fenris generally meant his fist embedded in someone's vital organs.

“He's got... this _thing_... about magic,” Varric said with a vague, circular gesture of his hand to a rather confused Dorian before escorting the two out of the room with a second, more earnest, suggestion that they dine.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum,_ ” Fenris grumbled under his breath as he followed Varric down to the main hall with the Tevinter mage chattering at his side, apparently failing to take the massive hint and continuing in his attempts to make friends.

“You know, you're a man after my own heart, Fenris. I've heard tell of your companionship with the Champion of Kirkwall. I find your devotion to him most inspiring, it seems the privilege of those here in the South.”

Of course. Reading Dorian's signals he suddenly understood why the mage was attempting to be especially amicable. Fenris had been a silent sentry at enough parties and meetings between magisters to know the upper echelons of his homeland communicated almost entirely in doublespeak. After all, someone couldn't climb very high on the rungs of Tevitner society if they couldn't keep their rivals off balance with petty sniping.

There were certain inclinations that could only be spoken of in euphemism as they naturally came into conflict with the aristocracy's obsession over breeding their precious magical bloodlines. Not that Danarius had been particularly discreet, but he was influential enough that none deigned to comment on that aspect of the elderly, unmarried magister who brought his favored male slave everywhere with him. Not to his face, at any rate, but it wasn't as if they didn't _know_. Fenris heard his own teeth straining dangerously as he clenched his jaw, between the dreams, the unbidden memories and the chatty Altus dandy his mind was going places he'd really rather it didn't. It was so much easier to forget it all when he was with Hawke.

By the time they reached the main hall Fenris had tuned out most of Dorian's self-important prattling. The area was more crowded than it had been when he first stormed in earlier that day with peoples of all variety of races and backgrounds mingling and feasting together; Fenris had never seen anything quite like it. He was brought up short as the group approached a dining table with a rather sizable Qunari hunched over one end of it.

“Allow me to introduce you to Iron Bull, another member of the Inquisition,” Dorian said with a gesture to said Qunari.

Fenris nodded in greeting as he sat and was served a plate along with a glass of wine. Dorian sat across from him, casting a brief smile in Bull's direction and Varric was already noisily tucking into his meal to Fenris' right. Bull grinned broadly at Fenris, his remaining eye twinkling with mischief as he gave the elf an appraising look, “So! You're the one that's been a major pain in the ass for every slaver cell from here to the Free Marches.”

“Er...” Fenris was at a loss for words, not just for wondering how the towering horned warrior had known that, but Bull was quite unlike any other Qunari he had ever encountered. Feeling wholly out of his element he did what came naturally and took a generous sip of his wine.

“Not a big talker then? Guess that adds to the whole mysterious arcane swordsman thing you got goin' on,” Bull said with a waggle of his fingers, earning a chortle from both Dorian and Varric, “Helps that you're easy on the eyes too.”

Fenris had finally begun to eat only to choke when he heard that last comment. He pounded at his chest and took another gulp of wine before raising a brow at Bull, “I'm... sorry, are you Tal-Vashoth?”

“Well I was Ben-Hassrath when this shit all started,” Bull admitted without hesitation and Fenris again found himself at a complete loss.

Dorian took advantage of the elf's stunned silence to launch into the questions he had barely been able to contain, “So then! Those markings...”

“- _a curse burned onto my flesh and my soul-_ ”

Fenris scowled at Cole, who was now precariously perched on the chair to Dorian's left. None of the others appeared at all surprised by the boy's sudden appearance and so Fenris elected to just ignore him. “You wish to know about them?” he asked Dorian.

Dorian clasped his hands and leaned forward eagerly, “They are _most_ fascinating! I've never seen magic like that.”

“It is not--” Fenris began, only to be drowned out by the wave of Dorian's excitement.

“They're made from lyrium, yes? I observed that you can feed power into them at will, a most unorthodox way for a mage to use his--”

“I _am not_ a mage!” Fenris shouted, surprising everyone but Varric, who continued to eat as if the outburst was normal dinner conversation.

“- _what has magic touched that it doesn't spoil_ -”

Dorian's brow furrowed as he absently stroked his mustache, waiting for Fenris to stop seething before he continued, “Truly? Then how are you not a gibbering madman with that much lyrium under your skin? What's your secret?”

Fenris glowered as he sat back in his chair and took a long draw of his wine. He had often wondered the same thing. He supposed it had something to do with the ritual, not that he would know how it achieved such results. The very idea that the lyrium didn't poison him because _he himself_ was a some latent _mage_ was-- as he suddenly thought of his sister and briefly wondered if magic ran in his family he began to feel the metal wine cup yielding under the increasingly crushing grip of his fingers. He decided it would be best to banish this train of thought forever.

“I remember nothing of the ritual that placed these markings on me,” he stated finally, a dark look having settled on his face.

“Ah,” said Dorian, sounding disappointed, “So you aren't the one who devised them?”

Fenris lurched forward in his seat, slamming his cup down on the table, “You thought I did this to _myself_!?”

“Well, I don't see why not, if one had the funds and resources and desired such abilities... But it seems I was mistaken,” Dorian had finally found the sense to seem somewhat peturbed, although he had yet to pinpoint what kept setting the elf off. He glanced at Varric who unhelpfully buried his face in his mug of ale and looked pointedly up at the ceiling. Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before irritably picking a piece of mutton from his plate, ripping into it with with bared teeth. Bull seemed quite content merely observe the exchange as his dinner entertainment, hiding a grin behind one large hand. Dorian took a sip of his own wine before pressing forward.

“Well then, might I ask who it was that devised them?”

Fenris made a show of rolling his eyes, “A magister by the name of Danarius.”

There was a sudden uproarious burst of laughter from Dorian that earned him a puzzled and almost offended look from Fenris. Varric scratched at his chin and suddenly seemed very interested in keeping an eye on the exits. Bull sheepishly popped a dinner roll into his mouth rubbed the back of his head. Cole had pulled his knees up to his chest and lowered his head, shuddering at the mention of the magister's name.

“ _Danarius!_?” Dorian exclaimed, still laughing, “The last anyone heard of _him_ he was killed in the backwater Free Marches chasing after his precious 'pet' to whom he was most unhealthily attach-- _Oh_ ,” the mage's eyes widened with the dawning realization that he had just committed a rather grievous faux pas.

“Oh,” Fenris echoed with a sneer.

There was a long stretch of decidedly uncomfortable silence that followed, the only sounds the background murmur of the crowd milling about in the hall and the creaking of the wood grain as Fenris dug his fingers into the table.

Dorian cleared his throat and finally said with the greatest hesitation, “You were... enslaved? Back home?”

“Do you know of many elves in the Imperium who are not?”

Dorian opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to consider the question more thoroughly, finally frowning as he folded his hands meekly before himself on the table, “I apologize. I thought you a Laetan at least.”

“I am not a mage!”

Dorian raised his hands in surrender, “Yes, yes, as you have said! Only you speak with such sophistication, I wouldn't have thought--”

“Didn't expect that from a _slave_ , did you?” Fenris spat bitterly.

“ _-clever little wolf, you reflect well on me-_ ”

Fenris' head snapped toward Cole, a murderous look in his eye, “What did you just say!?”

“Easy, elf-” Varric said as he made to place a steadying hand on Fenris' arm and then seemed to think better of it.

“No. You will explain _that,_ ” Fenris answered as he gestured angrily towards Cole, “to me this instant. He has dogged me since my arrival, if he is not a mage how is he doing-- whatever it is that he does.”

“I help. I find the hurt and I help,” insisted Cole, still curled up on himself and rocking slightly.

“Cole is a spirit,” Dorian said helpfully, grateful for the change of subject, “A spirit of compassion, as was explained to us by one who knew of such things.”

Fenris ground his teeth together, “An abomination. I know the like. One destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall.”

“No, no, that's just it,” Dorian said with the same air of excitement he had when inquiring about the markings, “He isn't possessing a human, once living or otherwise. He _is_ a spirit who manifest himself this way. He can hear people's thoughts, sense their emotions. It _is_ daunting at times, I can't say I envy that he's taken a shine to you.”

“He sings,” Cole repeated, his voice still muffled against his knees.

“And how long must I endure his nonsense?” Fenris grumbled, tearing into his dinner again with a vengeance.

“The chains lashed many wounds when they were broken, the hurt is still deep, discordant. You run to Hawke now, but it made you run from him then,” Cole answered.

Fenris' face colored slightly, with either anger or embarrassment even he wasn't sure, “I did not ask for your ' _help_ ', demon.”

Cole finally lifted his head, his wide round eyes wet with tears, “But he _hurt_ you, he hurt you _so much.”_

Varric raised a brow at Cole, “Who? Hawke?”

Cole shook his head vehemently, “The grey-eyed old man. You've been thinking about him since it showed him to you.”

Fenris' chair scraped loudly against the floor as he hastily rose from his seat, “I tire of this. Varric, where is the Inquisitor? I wish to see what progress has been made.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize I'm kind of writing a humanized Cole with most of his spirity powers still present but shut up it's fun.
> 
> I'm also oddly pleased with myself for applying the phrase "chatty Altus dandy" to Dorian.


	6. Secret Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A melancholy interlude with Hawke...

_Can you still dream if you're actually_ in _the Fade?_

This was Hawke's thought as he became aware he was walking through the Gallows. It didn't look right, the light shining off the prostrate statues of weeping slaves shone too brightly, the shadows cast at all the wrong angles. But he could move freely, his limbs were free of those twisting, slithering webs, and the Nightmare was nowhere to be seen. There was no keeping time in the Fade, he had found, he had given up on tracking days, or even hours; every moment bled together. He coveted these brief periods of lucidity, such as they were.

“This isn't very imaginative,” Hawke said tiredly to the ether, his voice carrying a harsh reverb, “Shall I tremble in fear of the statues coming to life?Because that actually happened _.”_

He continued wandering through the empty square, each fall of his boots against the stone creating shallow echoes. He raised his arms up at his sides, doing a small backwards twirl as he implored the sky for answers, “Or am I to stay here until I go mad with boredom? Is that what you want?”

“You will never understand what I want.”

Hawke's head whipped toward the sound of that voice he knew so well: Fenris was standing several yards from him, weapon held at one side, a red ember glow outlining his form as the familiar sight of Kirkwall burning blazed behind him. Somewhere beyond them Meredith was leading a charge, the sick song of the red lyrium emanating from her blade. Mages and Templars were at each other's throats, but there was also the Qunari? This wasn't how it went, was it?

“Fenris...” Hawke said carefully, blinking in confusion, “I don't-”

This Fenris seemed more solid, more in focus, than the brief visitations from before when the elf had seemingly punctured the veil of dreams and manifested directly in the Fade. He had appeared as a phantom, shining and beautiful with raw magic ebbing off him in waves. The effect of the lyrium, Hawke had imagined. The one time he had mustered the strength to tell his lover what he needed to he had been certain it was the real Fenris before him, but now...

“Backed into a corner the mages show their true colors. And as I suspected you are quick to defend your own kind. This is an old story that always ends the same way.”

Fenris was stalking toward him now, slow and menacing with the blade of his greatsword scraping against the stone tiles as he moved, kicking up sparks. In spite of himself Hawke took a few steps back. His mind raced to make sense of what he was seeing. Where had he been before now? Was this really happening? Was this how it went back then, when the dust from the ruins of the Chantry still choked the city?

“They're not your enemies, Fenris, and neither am I!” Hawke cried in protest. He had been afraid of this, he had seen how Fenris could react when it came to the pain and destruction magic could bring. He had witnessed Fenris spiral into a dark place of wrath and hatred for all things magic after plunging his claws into the heart of one of his tormentors, but the events of Kirkwall were larger than the both of them.

“You've never been to the Imperium. There the mages spit on us, they keep people like me as _pets_ ,” Fenris spat in return, scowling as he continued to advance on Hawke.

“I know that! I won't pretend to understand completely but--”

There had only been one other time Fenris had raised a blade against him and it had been in the Fade. To this day Hawke wasn't sure what had possessed him to convince Fenris to come along. It might have been a childish desire to grandstand in front of the elf, prove to him that there were mages who could easily resist the promises of demons. The last thing he had expected was that Fenris would fall prey to one instead. Demons and the Fade, that was familiar. This _was_ the Fade wasn't it? It was so hard to think--

“You don't think I'll fight to stop that from happening here!?” Fenris shouted, raising his sword and pressing it to Hawke's chest, “If the Circles fall, the mages will seize power. Once unbridled they will fall to the same depravities as Tevinter! You are no different. I should have never let you get so close.”

“Fenris!” Hawke was practically pleading at this point, unable to believe what he was hearing, “How could you think that I would--”

Fenris sneered in return, a terrifying conviction burning in his eyes, “You die or I die. Either way, the story ends.”

Hawke watched numbly as the world around them swayed, everything was wrong but he couldn't remember what was real any more. He couldn't focus on any one part of the severe stone architecture surrounding them, it seemed to fragment and rearrange itself out of the corner of his eye whenever he looked way. The clearest thing in all of this was Fenris, who looked to have every intention of slaying him. With a soft sigh Hawke bowed his head and closed his eyes.

“I won't kill you.”

“So be it.”

Fenris raised his sword high to deliver a killing strike and then suddenly jerked to a stop. Hawke became aware that his staff was now in his hands, the blade at the end puncturing the elf's torso, blood cascading from the wound and pooling at their feet. Hawke tried to cry out in protest but he seemed to have no control over his own actions, fire erupting from his hands and surging along the length of the staff. Fenris dropped his blade and began to scream as the flames engulfed him--

It was Hawke's own screams that were filling his ears as the spirits that had been acting out this macabre play scattered and silvery strands yanked Hawke up like a marionette, suspending him helpless from the webs once more. It had been a secret fear, from long ago, when the whole city went mad and he as forced to take a side. He had worried then if he fought to protect the mages who had no part in the destruction that the man he loved would refuse to stand beside him, that Fenris might even turn against him. Evidently it was this memory of a fear that the demon prowling on the peripheries of his awareness had been all too happy to pull out of him.

But that isn't how it went, was it? It was so hard to focus now, getting harder still to remember his life before this waking nightmare. Just before his mind retreated back into itself Hawke chuckled without mirth at his own mental quip.

_Maybe you can't dream, but hallucinations? Entirely possible._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... to give him more of a presence in this story. 
> 
> I half-heartedly apologize for the writing style being all over the place. Fenris' nightmares were in the first person, but Hawke's isn't, but then Hawke isn't exactly dreaming here is he? He's sort of experiencing this in real-time as everyone else dilly-dallies in the real world. As much as "real-time" can apply to the Fade. ...Maybe I shouldn't worry about it so much. 
> 
> Like most things in this barely-strung-together-by-theme piece I'm writing here it was a little concept I just had an idea for and worked in.


	7. Reminisce

The Inquisitor had come up with a plan.

In a dusty, secluded room tucked away in the back courtyard stood a massive eluvian. For whatever reason the witch Morrigan had left it behind when she absconded the grounds of Skyhold. It was through this relic of her people that Lavellan and the others had escaped the temple of Mythal; through it that she stepped into the Fade for the third time and had, apparently, met Mythal herself. Lavellan took a moment to reflect on just how strange her life had become.

She had surmised that the eluvian would be the safest and most surefire way to reach the Fade, but just how to recreate the feat of opening the way was a puzzle she had yet to solve. The ways of magic and the immaterial had always been a bit beyond her, that sort of thing was for the Keeper and the First and Second. For this to work she needed to seek the knowledge of her trusted mages.

“I really don't see the point of this, darling,” said Vivienne from where she stood beside Lavellan. Despite her pretension to dismissive detachment Vivienne’s sharp eyes appeared to be studying the artifact with great interest.

“I can't just leave it. Not when I know there's a chance to fix this,” said Lavellan with a shake of her head.

“Someone in your position has to make difficult decisions, this is something you'll need to accept eventually,” Vivienne chided as she absently traced a finger along the almost liquid surface of the eluvian, “Our guest is not the only person to lose a loved one to this conflict. You pose an unnecessary risk to yourself and thus the entire Inquisition should you carry on with this.”

“I know.”

“You also have no guarantee that the Champion will not be dead by the time you arrive, that he can survive extraction from the Fade after so long or that he will not be possessed. From what I’ve been told I have no doubt that half-mad elf would still fight to take him back with you even in the latter case.”

Lavellan scrubbed a hand irritably over her face. She could always rely on Vivienne’s counsel to be the hard truths anyone else would try to soften, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“Just tell me if it can be done,” Lavellan stated firmly.

“Potentially,” answered Vivienne with a tilt of her head as she stroked her chin, “If our guest is able to consistently enter the Nightmare's realm with his abilities alone we could use that to pinpoint the Champion. There's only the matter of opening the way.”

Outside the door to the Great Hall slammed open. Fenris stalked determinedly through the gardens with Dorian and Varric close behind, hurriedly shuffling to keep up with him. Several of Skyhold’s denizens milling about the area took wide and wary steps back from him, word of the incident earlier that morning having already spread throughout Skyhold. Without breaking his pace Fenris shot an irritated glance back over one shoulder.

“Am I to be followed everywhere by an entourage?”, he snarled in a tone laden with pitch black sarcasm.

“Oh I rather like the sound of that,” Dorian quipped, “Although I’d rather have one of my own.”

“Come on, we haven’t seen much of each other since Kirkwall! I plan to be by your side as much as possible,” Varric added cheekily.

Fenris suddenly stopped short and glared down at Varric, “You were told to keep an eye on me,” he accused.

“Nonsense, elf! I elected to appoint _myself_ as your keeper,” Varric said, offering a sly grin to Fenris’ murderous scowl.

“And why is the mage following us?” Fenris barked with a gesture towards Dorian, evidently electing to change the subject. Trying to argue with Varric was an exercise in futility.

“Well I am to help with finding a way to rescue your Champion," Dorian huffed indignantly, "The Inquisitor’s plan is going to require quite a lot of magic.”

“Of course it is,” Fenris scoffed, much to Dorian’s chagrin.

Back in the dusty room Lavellan hefted a sigh at the rising sounds of squabbling outside, “Sounds like Fenris is up.”

“Oh yes? I would very much like to meet this elf,” Vivienne stated mildly as she exited the room. Lavellan grimaced at the thought of what a meeting between such large, volatile personalities might result in and followed her out with a sort of helpless resignation.

As Vivienne sauntered into view of the loudly bickering group she quickly took stock of the stranger in their midst, “So this must be him,” she said ostensibly to Lavellan but clear enough for them all to hear, “The one that has cajoled you into such lunacy as potentially destabilizing the Veil for the Champion’s sake?”

Fenris paused, one brow raising as he took in her audacious appearance and practiced demeanor. He could come to only one conclusion, “ _Another_ magister?”

Vivienne placed a hand to her chest in mock offense, “I should have you know that I am First Enchanter of the Circle in Montsimmard and Enchanter to the Court of Orlais. Whatever would make you say that I am some Tevinter fiend, my dear?”

“The outfit,” Fenris responded with a flawless deadpan that earned a peal of laughter from Varric.

“So it wasn’t an exaggeration, Varric! He does have a sense of humor!” Dorian exclaimed with exaggerated amazement, “I'm beginning to understand what Hawke sees in him.”

Vivienne smirked in a mean yet somehow friendly manner at Dorian, “Well, if you are quite through dallying with one of _your_ kind perhaps you would assist me in sorting out this issue.”

Dorian, it seemed, hungrily leapt upon the bait, “Oh my, how gracious of you to admit you require the aid of a _Tevinter fiend_ , Madame de Fer.”

Fenris watched in bemused silence as the two strode off back to the room housing the eluvian, their caustic banter making him briefly nostalgic for the good-natured sniping between Aveline and Isabela. Lavellan approached him and Varric, nodding curtly.

“There is an eluvian here that has been opened to the Fade before. We’re going to find a way to use it to reach Hawke,” She stated plainly.

“I…”, Fenris cast his eyes to one side, unable to meet her gaze, “You have my thanks.”

“I should hope I have more than that,” Lavellan said with a touch of irritation, “I’ll trust you to stay out of trouble from now on.”

Fenris bristled at the comment, but held his tongue, simply nodding in agreement. Sensing that it was all she would get out of him Lavellan strode away to deal with other matters which required her attention.

Varric gave a snort as soon as the Inquisitor was out of ear-shot, “I tried to tell her you wouldn’t apologize.” When he was met with only the elf’s gloomy stare Varric continued, “Why don’t we go for a walk? It might clear your head.”  


 

\----

There was considerably little to interest Fenris in Skyhold, but when Varric mentioned the pub they mutually concluded that would be their ideal destination. On the way they spied Cassandra, sitting in the training yard and utterly engrossed in a book.

Varric chuckled to himself, elbowed Fenris and said “watch this” as he snuck up behind the Seeker.

“So. Did you get to the part where the Knight-Captain fights a dragon to rescue a group of orphans and save Satinalia?”

Cassandra gasped loudly and slammed the book shut, scrambling to her feet in an almost comic fashion, “Y-you made that up just now, didn’t you!?”

“Seeker, it’s _my_ book, I made it _all_ up!”

Fenris gave an impatient grunt that unfortunately drew Cassandra’s attention to him.

“Ah. Fenris”, She said tightly, “I am glad to see you are up and about. I hope we will not have a repeat of our confrontation earlier.”

Fenris felt he would soon grow weary of being scolded like a misbehaving child, but before he could form a retort Varric promptly broke the tension, “You aren’t going to ask him to sign your copy of the Tale of the Champion, Seeker?”

As Cassandra sputtered slightly Fenris took the opportunity to add, “Ah. So she is the one who was searching for Hawke.”

Cassandra made to protest before a puzzled look crossed her face, “How did you know about that?”

“Even before the Breach, Hawke and I were well aware of the movements of the Inquisition," Fenris answered casually.

“But how is that possible-” Realization struck her all at once and Cassandra immediately glared at Varric, “You!”

“Guilty as charged!” Varric declared with a grin.

“No, it could not be. Any messages you sent would have been examined first,” Cassandra answered with no small amount of uncertainty.

“Even if your people had intercepted my letters all they’d find is what appeared to be drab Merchant’s Guild business addressed to a messere Falcon or messere Wolfe,” Varric explained, looking all too pleased with himself.

“You were not at your most creative with those pseudonyms,” Fenris drawled dryly.

“But your spymaster isn’t even on the same continent as incompetence,” said Varric, “So I’m going to guess she might have let it slide.”

“Ugh. I will need to have a word with Leliana,” Cassandra grumbled.

“You may catch up, Varric. I will meet you in the pub,” Fenris said glumly as he turned his back on the two.

Cassandra regarded Fenris with interest as he stalked away, “I am surprised that you did not write of their romance in your book, Varric.”

Varric gave a gravelly chuckle, “I like my heart inside my chest, thanks. Although I did sprinkle in some tantalizing hints. And of course I told _you_ the whole story.”

“Yes. In curious detail,” Cassandra answered with a sidelong glance.

Varric grinned with an almost wicked sort of pride, “Oh you can’t even imagine the things I could get Hawke to tell me when he’d been properly plied with ale.”  


 

\----

Fenris stared at the ceiling as he lay awake in bed, feeling slightly dizzy from an evening of imbibing subpar wine at the Herald’s Rest. He didn't want to sleep. He did, of course, desperately want to see Hawke, to assure himself the mage would live long enough for their excursion into the Fade. But the demon was aware of him now, which would lead to it drawing any number of dark memories and fears from his mind as fodder for nightmares. If not that, it would only mean another confrontation with the wretched creature itself, which would result in another sleepless night one way or the other.

He wasn’t certain how he had even managed these sojourns in the demon’s lair, unless Pavus had hit upon the truth and Fenris was magically inclined-- he growled as he rolled over and attempted to smother his own traitorous mind with a pillow.

With those unacceptable notions banished his thoughts then wandered to Hawke, as easily as taking breath. Their last conversation before they parted had been an argument, and an explosive one at that. Living as vagrant fugitives had not been without peril, and there were plenty of rogue Templars and rebel mages out there eager to make a name for themselves as the one who took the head of the notorious Champion of Kirkwall. A man who was mistakenly thought to have a bigger role in starting this foolish war than he had. Simply being loathed to see others die for Anders’ crimes had created a legend that Hawke was some revolutionary of the mage rebellion.

He closed his eyes and remembered the incident that had lead to their fight, that had lead to Hawke leaving him behind.

 

“Fenris! _Fenris!_ ”

He had found himself with his back to the cold ground, not knowing how he had gotten there. Hawke was hovering over him looking particularly vexed, his fingers dug hard into Fenris’ shoulders as he shook him. Fenris had lifted one hand towards Hawke’s face to reassure him, stopping to stare when he saw it was soaked in fresh blood. He tried to speak but could only produce a wet, wracking cough, more blood splattering onto the ground beside him as he rolled onto his side. This drove Hawke nearly into a state of panic as he desperately tried to close the hole in Fenris's torso with his meager skills. Several Templars lay dead around them, armor punctured like paper, the viscera and brain matter Fenris had pulled out of them strewn across the barren rock. His vision had shifted in an out of focus as Hawke cast his clumsy healing spells and forced several health potions down his throat. At the time his mind felt as if it would float away, the world around him little more than a blur of color, but now looking back he could recall with clarity the battle that put him in such a state.

As usual he had put Hawke behind him when a group of Templars advanced. Hawke had begun to scold him often for doing so, usually masked in a joking tone but Fenris had sensed his lover was becoming genuinely irritated with him. Let him steam, Fenris had decided, he would protect Hawke at all costs.

The first few opponents had gone down easily, as usual unsuspecting that the swordsman before them could also plunge a hand straight through armor, flesh and bone to snuff out their lives. With the first one felled he had parried the next, knocking his opponent to the ground before ghosting his leg and driving his foot through the man’s skull, pulverizing it with a savage twist of his ankle. Hawke in the meantime was casting his magic from afar, but the past few weeks of travel and conflict had worn on the Champion. He was tired and making mistakes, and soon he had gotten himself cornered, doubling over as his Templar attacker stripped his magic with a Silencing. Fenris, having easily dispatched the other Templars, rushed forth to defend his lover. He drew back his blade and swung it forward, using the momentum from its weight to launch into a flying leap, raising the blade high above his head mid-flight. In a split second he saw that the Templar was thrusting his own sword up towards him in retaliation and so he ghosted his entire body, easily passing through the steel as he drove his greatsword into the gap between the Templar’s pauldrons and helmet.

However, the Templar had next raised his free hand and a strange power passed over Fenris, momentarily disrupting the markings. He grit his teeth as he felt his body solidify around the Templar’s blade, the cold steel rending flesh, bone and organs alike. With the last of his strength he had wrenched his greatsword to the side, severing the Templar’s head from his neck. And then he had succumbed to darkness.

He gave another hard cough as Hawke helped him into a sitting position, his ribs aching like they would fracture from it, were likely still cracked and bruised from solidifying around a blade. It had been a Smite, Hawke explained, and Fenris had found himself mildly impressed that no Templar had thought to try it before.

“That was stupid of you,” Hawke said, attempting a jovial tone even as his voice hitched, “You didn’t have to rush in like that.”

“He would have killed you, Hawke,” Fenris stated bluntly.

“He almost killed _you!_ ” Hawke protested, rising to his feet and throwing his hands up in frustration, “You’re not my _bodyguard_ , Fenris!” Hawke hardly ever raised his voice, but each word seemed to increase in volume as he paced in a fashion more typical of his neurotic elven lover.

Fenris grasped his still injured side as he regarded Hawke coldly, “And just what are you implying?”

Hawke sighed and turned to him, retrieving his staff from the ground and leaning heavily upon it, “You can’t deny you still have some… habits. From before.”

“Do not coddle me, Hawke. Lest you believe I cannot think for myself.”

Fenris had tried to hold on to his anger, his indignation that Hawke would say such a thing, but they both knew it was true. Seven years under Danarius' thumb, three constantly on the run from him, another seven struggling to reach some semblance of normalcy in his day-to-day life, and he was still unlearning all that had been driven into him. Certainly he fell back on his training when he protected Hawke, but the motive was so very different now.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Hawke had protested, practically whining, “But I can’t take this. I can’t take you putting yourself in danger for me!

“I would protect you at any cost. If anything were to happen to you…”

“And what about me!?” Hawke had shouted with a wild gesture, “It would- it would kill me to lose you. To see someone else I love die because of me and this- this chaos that follows me around!” The words had reverberated throughout the canyon, slowly dying in the silence that followed.  

That had given Fenris pause. He had always assumed, perhaps foolishly, that he needed Hawke more than Hawke needed him. Hawke always seemed larger than life, an indomitable force that persevered no matter the hardship. But as he was finally beginning to learn the man was only human, and could be as fragile as any other.

“I’m going to take you someplace safe to recover, and then I’ll complete the journey on my own,” Hawke said firmly before his tone softened, “I won’t be long at Skyhold. They just want to know about Corypheus.”

Fenris knew better, knew the responsibility Hawke felt for Corypheus’ release. There was no information Hawke could give them that anyone else couldn’t have gathered by just encountering the creature. The Champion intended to fight.

“Promise me you won’t die,” Fenris had said in a deliberate echo of their conversation before Kirkwall finally collapsed into madness.

“I promise,” Hawke said with a weary smile, “We’ll be back together before you know it.”

Hawke had then put his staff to his back and leaned down to help Fenris to his feet. The Champion's large, warm hands grasped the elf's own, mindful of the spikes on his gauntlets, and pulled him up, bringing Fenris nearly flush with the other man. Hawke gave an encouraging smile that was not quite enough to mask the pain in his eyes and gently planted a kiss on Fenris' blood-stained lips.

 

“ _Kaffas_!” Fenris shouted to the empty room, throwing the pillow against the wall as if it had personally insulted him. He couldn't just continue to lay there tormenting himself with his own thoughts or waiting to be tormented in his sleep by a demon; he had to move.

 

\----

Varric stared off into the mountains beyond Skyhold’s ramparts, shivering slightly against the cold. All this business with Hawke still being alive and the elf going on a tear through Skyhold was making his stomach hurt. All the same he couldn't help but reminisce about his jovial best friend and the man's endearingly grumpy lover. Long ago it was a match Varric never thought could work, the two were almost exact opposites: Hawke, massive and exuberant, always bursting with energy and lifting spirits with a terrible joke; Fenris, lean and phantom-like, always scowling as if he were attempting to murder each passerby with his gaze alone. And all of that was before Fenris' penchant for tirades about the evils of magic could be taken into consideration. At the time Varric had to wonder if Hawke wasn’t a glutton for punishment.

But there was definitely something there, something only the two of them fully understood.

Varric smiled fondly as he recalled one of their greatest misadventures, wherein Hawke had somehow gotten himself wrapped up in a situation with a Qunari elf and a heist that wasn't a heist. The whole thing had ended with an Orlesian Duke attacking them on the back of a wyvern and Hawke sending the bastard over the edge of a cliff. Because nothing Hawke did could ever be normal.

Before everything had gone nug-shaped they had been subjected to scouring the forests on a hunt, trudging about through muddy nature and fending off ankle-biting ghasts. Despite his reserved nature things had obviously changed with the elf; after Fenris' spectacular slaying of the magister who had hunted him for so long he and Hawke seemed to finally stop dancing around each other and had reconciled. And not a moment too soon, Hawke's three years of pining had started to become unbearable, and he had been running up Varric’s tab something awful with his many nights of drowning his sorrows while providing tantalizing details of his love life.

Varric had overheard as Fenris had softly murmured “I am yours, as always” to Hawke before stalking off to scout ahead. He observed Hawke's goofy smile as he watched the elf depart and couldn't help but ask: “Does it ever bother you when he says that, Hawke? I mean, considering...”

Hawke just shook his head and laughed lightly, “It did a little, at first,” he had admitted, “but I think I understand now. It's the most meaningful way he knows to tell me he trusts me.”

That answer had made a weird sort of sense to Varric. He had decided right then and there that perhaps the two were a perfect match after all. Mostly because they were both incredibly eccentric. 

“It's probably never going to be easy with him,” Varric had remarked, knowing full well Hawke was far beyond the point of caring.

“I know,” Hawke had said with a small smile, “But he's worth it.”

 

As if summoned by Varric's thoughts Fenris suddenly appeared, storming up the stairs nearby. He paced the ramparts like a tiger in a cage. Or perhaps, more appropriately, a wolf just beyond the light of a campfire.

“Shouldn't you be asleep, elf?”

Fenris visibly jumped as Varric emerged from the shadows, hastily adopting a nonchalant stance to pretend he hadn't been taken by surprise at all. Varric bit back a chuckle to spare his friend's dignity.

“Shouldn't you?” Fenris groused irritably in return.

“Can't sleep a wink,” Varric said with a sad smile, “all this worrying. Can't even imagine what it's like for you.”

“No. You can't,” Fenris spat as he continued his pacing. Varric just rolled his eyes, by now too accustomed to the elf's grouchiness to take it personally.

“You should at least stop with the pacing, elf, you're gonna need your energy tomorrow.”

“I can't,” Fenris replied tersely as he passed by Varric.

Varric sighed as he followed Fenris with his eyes. He'd only seen the elf get so worked up a handful of times, and despite the general air of malaise he exuded Fenris was typically calm and in control of himself. Varric understood the elf’s agitation was born from frustration with himself and with the entire situation, but nothing short of rescuing Hawke, or maybe tearing a dragon apart with his bare hands, would be able to settle him.

“Don't be like that,” Varric chided lightly, “just stop and take in the scenery or-”

“I _can't_ ,” Fenris insisted, although he managed to stop before Varric on his next pass, shifting his weight from foot to foot restlessly.

“Alright, alright, I get it. It'd definitely freak me out if you started crying on my shoulder,” Varric grumbled, waving him off.

Fenris crossed his arms, looking decidedly unamused, “I do not cry.”

“Oh I forgot!”, Varric replied derisively, “You're hard to the core, nothing so weak and pathetic as feelings could crack that stony visage!”

Fenris narrowed his eyes and gave a huff, creating a small cloud of fog in the air before him. He then rigidly turned and planted his hands on the wall, tapping his fingers rapidly against the stones as he glared out into the mountains. Varric soon joined him, crossing his arms over the wall as he leaned against it.

They stood in silence in the still cool of the night for several long moments before Varric began in a conversational tone, “You know, years ago when I first realized Hawke was going after you I was a little concerned. No, scratch that, I thought he had lost his damn mind. I even tried to warn him off!”

Fenris wrinkled his nose and said, “Is there a point to telling me this?”

“Maker's breath, elf, you've been ready to tear the world and yourself apart to get him back. You climbed up a mountain barefoot for him!” Varric gestured out into the snow for emphasis before turning to Fenris with a lopsided smile, “You really love Hawke don't you?”

Fenris froze momentarily before turning his head to hide the coloring of his cheeks and nodded ever so slightly. Varric chuckled fondly, amazed that the elf could still be so shy after all this time. But what Fenris said next brought him back down into a melancholic haze.

“I can't help but think of how I wasted three years shutting myself away from him,” Fenris abruptly confided.

“Yeah, seeing you two dance around each other sure was painful”, Varric quipped in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.

Fenris either didn’t notice or pretended not to, “Now… he may die. And-- And I...”

“Regret will eat you alive if you let it”, Varric said, exhaling a sigh heavy with the weight of experience. He slowly raised one hand, reaching over and clapping Fenris lightly on the shoulder, “We'll get him back, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded, remaining silent for another long stretch as the two gazed into the moonlit mountains, breath catching in the wind like ghostly smoke.

“I apologize for my anger,” Fenris said eventually, “It is... difficult. Knowing Hawke's plight and being unable to do something for it. Being here among the Inquisition has not helped matters.”

“ _The rambling boy, he pokes his fingers into old wounds, I wonder if he would bleed._ ”

Fenris turned an exasperated stare on Cole, who was now sitting on the wall a few feet away, looking particularly wraith-like under the pale light of the moon.

“When will you cease to haunt me?” Fenris grumbled.

Cole stared into him with his wide round eyes, “I'm not that kind of spirit.”

Varric chuckled tiredly, “He likes you, elf. Don't worry about it, everyone else has had to deal with the kid digging around in their brains and coming up with their darkest secrets. Er, admittedly you may have more than most.”

Cole nodded in agreement, “It’s so hard to understand, how some hurting gets better but doesn’t ever go away. I want to help but there is no helping it. It’s a part of you now, like a scar, like the song.”

Fenris folded his arms onto the wall as well, resting his head down upon them with a sigh.

“The grey-eyed old man,” Cole continued, “he hurt you, he wrapped you in many chains, some of them are still there and it isn’t your fault, but he fades now more and more. He’s a ghost, but you are not. You’ll never not be the wolf, not anymore, but you are your own.”

“The wolf…?” Fenris asked, mild curiosity penetrating his tired confusion.

“Yes. He made you into the wolf, when he sundered the you that once was with the song. The hidden one… Leto,” Cole’s brow furrowed as he pronounced the name like an unfamiliar word, “He is you but he is also gone. It showed him to you, but you will not be him again.”

Fenris swallowed thickly and looked away, “Who I was is… no longer important.”

“Because that is not who Hawke knows,” Cole finished for him.

Varric was taking in the odd exchange with a certain fascination, but now a realization hit him, “Wait, all these things you’ve been saying about songs and singing, you meant the lyrium?”

Cole gave him a look as if it should have been obvious, “Yes. It is the song. It’s alive and it sings.”

“Right…” Varric said, scratching his head, “Bianca had said something about lyrium being ‘alive’”, he cast a glance at Fenris as he said this, who was looking slightly green.

“‘Alive’?” Fenris echoed with a grimace.

“Unless you’re hearing voices, elf, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about!” Varric declared rather unconvincingly, “...You know the pub is open all night. Why don’t we go down for another round of drinks?”

“Gladly,” Fenris grumbled as the two of them abandoned the rampants, leaving Cole to sit alone staring up at the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My criticisms of my own plot played here by Vivienne. 
> 
> There's also a bit of a personal inside joke here: when I first saw the line up of characters for DA:I I immediately assumed Vivienne was the Tevinter mage because of her outfit. 
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, as it was mostly made up of disparate mini-scenes I sort of tenuously linked together, but I wanted to get a move on with this story.


	8. The Stranger

Varric and Fenris made absolutely no attempt to disguise their hung over and sleep deprived state the following morning. Drinking their restless night away with a second visit to the Herald’s Rest had seemed like a fine idea several hours previously. Bull joined them for the better part of their somber revelry, first hitting on Fenris again, then attempting to recruit him for the Chargers, followed by a rather exuberant arm-wrestling competition once the Dwarven ale got involved. The results were a broken table and a mug immovably lodged in one of the tap room's supporting pillars at which point, around daybreak, Bull decided to turn in. If Fenris didn’t know any better he may have suspected the big oaf was trying to distract him from his anxieties. Eventually, a messenger tracked them to the pub in order to inform them that the Inquisitor and all concerned parties were expected to gather in the store room housing the eluvian.

Needless to say the look Cassandra shot the two of them was particularly venomous as they shambled in wordlessly, welcoming the dim light after their blinding trek through Skyhold’s grounds. Varric promptly pulled a dusty sheet off of a nearby divan and threw himself onto it, putting his feet to rest on Fenris’ knee after the elf dropped himself into a slouch on the opposite end.

The others only briefly acknowledged the two, Lavellan standing with her arms crossed between Vivienne and Dorian as they argued over magical theory. Fenris rubbed his temples moodily, the arcane talk putting to mind a bit too keenly his days in the Imperium.

"You're telling me that witch was able to activate it with a gesture," Vivienne was saying rather peevishly.

"That's right," Lavellan replied, "But that was just opening it up, I gathered directing it to the Fade was a bit more challenging."

Fenris' head swam, he rubbed hard at his eyes and attempted to ignore how irritating he was finding their voices at the moment.

“The amount of power required is certainly the root of the problem here,” Dorian stated, “I’m not sure if every mage in Skyhold would be enough…”

“Very well,” Fenris growled from his seat, “Use all the lyrium and blood in my body if you must, as long as it gets you to Hawke.”

Dorian stared at him aghast at the suggestion, opening his mouth to protest that he wasn't a blood mage when he was cut off by Lavellan’s sudden loud snort.

“Funny,” Lavellan said without a trace of humor, “When I met Hawke he said he left you behind because he didn’t want you to kill yourself for him.”

“And yet he had no qualms about dying for others!” Fenris shot back, before his face softened and he looked down to the floor, “That… is so like him.”

"Yes well, we're going to do this the right way," Dorian insisted.

The right way turned out to be several hours of several false starts and several more debates over the correct approach. At some point Varric had fallen asleep, hands clasped over his chest as he snored a bit too loudly. Cassandra was leaning against one wall with her arms crossed, looking outright bored and in danger of falling asleep herself. Lavellan remained stoic, paying close attention to the prattle of the mages with only the occasional flicker of incomprehension in her eyes.

Fenris’ agitation only grew, his mind echoing memories of Danarius using similar words and phrases as he regaled his fellow Senators with talk of his experiments, casually demonstrating blood magic on a lesser slave while Fenris stood passively behind him, waiting to be called upon while gripping an ornate, half-empty bottle of wine in his hands. And here he was relegated to the side once more, listening to self-important mages attempting to one up each other with their abstract knowledge, unable to contribute even as he sat there with the very essence of magic etched into his skin.

The spark of a mad idea sprang to mind just as his temper fully flared.

“Enough of this, we’re wasting time!” Fenris shouted as he abruptly rose from his seat, the sudden movement only causing Varric to stir slightly. He stalked over to the eluvian, brushing past Lavellan while pushing Vivienne and Dorian out of the way.

“And just what do _you_ intend to do, my dear?” Vivienne chided.

In lieu of a response Fenris brought his markings to life, his entire body soon awash in an ethereal blue light until he practically resembled a ghost. So enraptured in their fascination were the two mages that they hardly noticed as Fenris took two steps forward and pressed his hands to the eluvian, his arms slowly plunging beneath its oily surface.

“Fenris!” Lavellan shouted in warning, attempting to grab his shoulder to stop him, stumbling awkwardly as her hand only passed through his body.

Varric awoke and tumbled inelegantly from the divan, scrambling to his feet from the floor with an uncharacteristic splash of panic in his voice, “Elf! This is crazy!”

Fenris screwed his eyes shut to shield them from the bright light that exploded throughout the mirror, ignoring the shouts, pleas and protests of the others as he slowly submerged himself in the nebulous refraction of lost places and old magic. He felt pressure on his head and a loud ringing in his ears, an intense pain pulled at him from all directions, as if the eluvian’s essence threatened to tear the lyrium from his skin. And then, abruptly, it lifted. His feet touched solid ground and he returned to corporeality, slowly opening his eyes to take in his new surroundings.

The area was eerily silent, a long stretch of white fog offering only stolen glimpses of a seemingly neverending number of ruins. There were countless other eluvians dotted throughout the sullen landscape like tombstones. He began to walk, his footsteps echoing pale and hollow, the only other sound besides his own breathing. Movement then caught in the corner of his eye and he glanced down to see colors had begun to leach into the ground directly surrounding his feet. He watched the effect curiously, pivoting to trot backwards and observe the chromatic pools that rippled in his wake. He felt light here, and strangely calm. It bothered him.

He was shaken from his thoughts when overcome with the sudden sensation that another presence was close by. He came to a halt, hazarded a glance over one shoulder and sure enough, he wasn’t alone. The fogs drifted to reveal a figure approaching from further down the path; it was another elf, tall and sleek, not unlike himself, who appeared mildly startled by Fenris’ intrusion.

Fenris slowly turned to face the newcomer, the two staring each other down in silence, as if neither was certain the other wasn’t a mirage. The stranger adopted a slightly hunched stance holding his arms, and his staff, Fenris noted, close to himself. This other elf might have come across as timid if not for the cunning set of his eyes.

Fenris knew well the gaze of a predator.

“How have you come to be here?” Asked the stranger with a lilting cadence.

Fenris kept his eyes locked hard on the other elf as he answered cautiously, “I came through a mirror. An eluvian.”

The stranger gave a small nod, brow quirking as he gazed over Fenris’ shoulder, eyes following the path to the faint shape through the white mists. A sudden urge to step between the stranger and his way back to Skyhold struck him, but he quickly subdued it. Even as the other man unnerved him, Fenris knew this was the best chance he’d been given to find Hawke.

“Is this the Fade?” Fenris asked uncertainly, gazing around the ruin. Translucent leaves bled into being, decorating the decaying trees as eyes passed over their branches.

“No,” the stranger replied, tilting his head to one side as he added, “Why would you wish to go there?”

Fenris quickly put the stranger back in his sights. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a creature one should engage with carefully. It was a strangely familiar sensation, one he recalled from standing beside Hawke on the chilly peaks of Sundermount nearly a decade earlier, facing a similarly indefinable presence with golden eyes that laid bare his soul.

“There is someone I need to find,” Fenris answered, “He was left in the Fade, in the lair of a great Fear demon.”

What might have been recognition briefly flashed through the stranger’s eyes, “I see.”

The other elf suddenly brushed past Fenris, tracking his way toward the eluvian. The fogs appeared to part before him, color and life exploding into the world as he strode past. Fenris stood transfixed for several seconds before shaking the daze off and hastening to follow.

“You are Tevinter,” said the man matter-of-factly, “And not a mage yourself.” He paused in his steps and turned, eyes falling to the markings on Fenris’ hands as he said this. Fenris bit his lip under the scrutiny, almost wanting to cover them up.

“No. I am not,” he responded firmly.

The man gave a gentle and yet simultaneously smug smile, “I would have your name,” he said.

“Would you give me yours?” Fenris asked.

“No,” said the stranger, his mysterious smile unfaltering.

Fenris glared at him for a moment before relenting, realizing he was at this creature’s mercy if he wanted answers, “Fenris.”

The stranger’s eyes lit up with amusement and he said with a slight chuckle in his tone, “Fate or chance? Of course it would be me that you would find.” Fenris couldn’t glean the meaning behind those words but he got the distinct feeling he was being made fun of. As the stranger turned his back to continue onward he felt himself beginning to grow impatient once more.

“Will you tell me where I am?” Fenris demanded.

“A place between,” the stranger said as he ran his pale, slender fingers along the frame of the mirror.

“How do I reach the Fade from here?”

“The same way you came to be in this place. Just with some help,” The stranger replied, tapping his fingers playfully along the frame before running a hand over the surface itself.

“You would help me? Just like that?” Fenris asked, “At what cost?”

The stranger chuckled again, another gentle smile pulling at his lips even as his eyes retained their predacious glint, “None.”

“Then to what end?” Fenris asked with suspicion.

“It will be interesting to see what you do,” was the only explanation the stranger gave.

The surface of the eluvian suddenly burst back to life, glimpses of the room back in Skyhold visible through the ripples. He cast an uneasy glance at the stranger, who appeared to be staring wistfully into the undulating images. Every now and then the others could be seen through the ebb, evidently arguing about what to do. Lavellan glanced up just as the surface gave a clear view of her face, and Fenris could have sworn the stranger quietly sucked in a breath as her unseeing eyes passed over him.

“Go on then. They are waiting for you,” The stranger said.

Fenris stepped up to the eluvian, summoning power to his markings in anticipation. He noted with mild interest that they alone were all that was reflected the mirror's surface on his side.

"That won't be necessary," said the voice behind him.

He paused, letting the light of the markings die as he turned to fix a the other elf with a ponderous look.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The stranger leaned on his staff and offered a wry smile, “No one of importance.”

Fenris scoffed before rigidly facing the mirror once again, stubbornly walking through it without further hesitation. Despite leaving his powers dormant the return trip was just as painful, the ancient magics pulling hard on the markings. He finally slipped through the other side, collapsing to his hands and knees on the cool stonework of Skyhold. Varric hurried to him, asking after his well being and patting his back as if the mirror’s mists were something that could have invaded his lungs.

The others had ceased their bickering and instead stood frozen in shock, staring at the eluvian. Just as Fenris came through the surface had billowed and reformed itself into a clear vision of the Fade.

Dorian was the first to break the silence, “What in Andraste’s name did you do?”

Fenris struggled to answer from his spot on the floor, grimacing as he sat back on his heels and brought his hands up to cradle his aching skull. Between the hang over, the lack of sleep and forcing his way through an elven artifact of unknown power he was likely not in top form. Not that it would discourage him from beginning the search for Hawke in earnest.

“I met a… something. Perhaps a spirit,” Fenris said as he shook his head, knowing in his heart that description was insufficient.

“A spirit?” Vivienne asked disapprovingly.

“A ghost of an ancient elf, perhaps. That is what he appeared as to my eyes,” Fenris replied, standing unsteadily, “What does it matter? Whatever he was, he has opened the way.”

“It matters if you made a deal with a demon, my dear.”

“I am not a mage,” Fenris grumbled, fingers kneading the bone just above his eye.

“Oh here we go with that again,” Dorian said, “Even someone who is not a mage could become possessed in the Fade.”

“I am no fool. I witnessed enough dealings with demons in my time in Tevinter,” Fenris said, staring pointedly at Dorian, “Or do you doubt me?”

Dorian sighed heavily and averted his gaze, “From what I’ve heard of Danarius, no, I do not.”

“Besides, I was not in the Fade,” Fenris said, swaying slightly on his feet, “He called it ‘a place between’”

Lavellan hummed with interest, “The Crossroads most likely. Morrigan brought me there before. It’s a space that connects eluvians, something created by our people long in the past.”

“Fascinating! I should like to visit there after our jaunt to the Fade,” Dorian announced.

“Surely you don’t intend to go right now,” Vivienne said with no small amount of incredulity.

Dorian laughed and gestured toward Fenris, “Look at him! Do you think you could stop him?”

“You at least could wait as long as it takes to mobilize our forces,” Cassandra interjected.

“No, it should be only a few of us,” Lavellan reasoned, “Who knows what sort of havoc an entire army could cause with just its presence. I’m not looking to rip another big hole in the sky.”

“I will elect to stay here and monitor the connection on this side,” Vivienne stated. 

“You’ll need a mage where you’re going,” Dorian said with a grin, “And I’m quite a good candidate.”

“Well, you know I’m going,” Varric announced, hoisting Bianca into his hands for emphasis.

“Although you really ought to reconsider the timing,” Dorian said, turning to Fenris, “You’ve run yourself ragged, and there’s no telling what effect all that lyrium will have on you once in the Fade.”

“I’m going. _Now_ ,” Fenris insisted.

“At least allow me to send someone to fetch your sword and armor,” Lavellan said, sidling between Fenris and the eluvian as if she half-expected him to ignore her and march right back through it unarmored.

“Very well,” Fenris agreed with a glower on his face, “But I will not wait long.”

Cassandra went to give the order, swiftly procuring the armor, weapons and supplies the four would need for their venture. She eyed Lavellen anxiously as they geared up, “Inquisitor I urge you to remain. Needlessly risking yourself is unwise.”

“ _Leliana_ let me just run right through to the Fade before,” Lavellen groused as she pulled on her gloves.

“Inquisitor!”

Lavellen turned to Cassandra with a weak smile, “I need to see this through, alright? Besides, I know you’ll be here to lead the Inquisition without me should the worst happen.”

Cassandra sighed helplessly before nodding in concession.

Armored and with his greatsword at his back Fenris marched through the eluvian without another word or so much as a last look at the others. Varric shrugged cheerfully and followed at his heels. Dorian spent some time stalling, adjusting his collar and the train of his robes before he too stepped through the portal to the Fade.

Lavellen paused for one moment, glancing back at Cassandra and Vivienne as she smiled and said, “Wish us luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literal deus ex machina? You betcha!


	9. Precipice

Moving through the eluvian and into the Fade proved to be a much smoother process than the visit to the Crossroads. It was rather more like passing through a doorway, as if the Fade were just in an adjacent room. But as soon as his foot touched the black rock of the Nightmare's realm a blinding white glow erupted throughout the markings. They didn’t just pull or ache, they throbbed.

A strange, distant sound rang on the edge of his hearing, gradually drawing closer until it rushed forth in a roar that engulfed his senses. He couldn’t help but claw at his ears even as he knew instinctively that the sound was within his own mind. It was at once like the swelling of a chorus, colliding into a single pitch that no living thing could possibly produce. A continuous note without pause or breath, fragmenting and reforming yet ever present, a primal symphony harmonizing without meter. There was no distinct melody to be discerned but he could recognize it as a song all the same.

He became vaguely aware of voices chanting “wolf, wolf” through the din. It took a few moments to realize they were coming from outside of himself. It was several more moments before he recognized that the voices were speaking in his native tongue, and he remembered that it was his name.

“Fenris!”

“Fenris! Elf! Hey!”

Fenris shrugged Varric’s hand off his shoulder and forced himself to his feet, unaware he had even fallen to the ground in the first place, gritting his teeth hard as he struggled to will the markings into dormancy. Finally the glow died down and the music with it, the song becoming faint, familiar buzzing in the back of his mind. Fenris noted bitterly that it had always been there.

“You scared the piss out of us, elf. What was that?”

“Lyrium…” Fenris mumbled dumbly in response as he struggled to catch his breath. The markings continued to flicker faintly but at least seemed to be in no danger of flaring up again.

“I could say I’d hate to say I told you so, but I don’t” Dorian scoffed primly, “But at least you no longer seem out of sorts. Well, no more than usual.”

A high pitched chittering and the patter of dozens of skinny insect legs caused all four to take urgent stock of their surroundings. Lesser fear demons were descending upon them now from every crag and crevice.

“Wonderful. You’re like a bloody beacon,” Dorian said to Fenris.

“Why do they always have to look like bugs!?” Lavellan lamented.

Fenris blinked and deigned not to mention that while he heard the insectoid chittering the creatures appeared to him as the vengeful reanimated corpses of Danarius and  Hadriana.

The group began to shoot, cleave, stab and burn their way through the crowd of menacing fiends. Individually the monstrosities were easily dispatched by four experienced fighters, but the sheer volume of the things was quickly wearing them down. Reluctant as Fenris was to try activating the lyrium, given what had happened just minutes before, he couldn’t help but light his hand to smack away one of the wretched creatures as it leapt up at his face.

He flexed his fingers, staring into the glow that traced them. The song was a faint trill, but persistent, and the melody now seemed to change slightly in reaction to his movements. Casting a ponderous look into the fray around him he decided to take the risk. A tide of blue light ebbed through the markings before he unleashed a pulse of spirit energy from his form. It tore across the demons, one long, loud note of the song accompanying his attack and it was clear by the expressions the others wore that, this time, they had heard it too.

“My word,” Dorian marveled at him as the remaining creatures skittered away in a panic, “The Fade can enhance a mage’s abilities, but it must be having a tremendous effect on your own.”

It was a battle to quiet the markings once more, he could direct them as usual but felt just barely in control. Agitated and in pain Fenris stared down at his arms and remarked, “This is dangerous."

"Keep it to a minimum then, who knows what effect your lyrium will have here," said Lavellan.

As if to illustrate her point the air before them cracked open, not unlike a rift, and a despair demon came screaming through. They were all forced to dive to the ground to avoid the jet of freezing cold left in its wake.

"Huh. That didn't happen last time," said Varric as the group pulled themselves to their feet.

“You were here ‘last time’?” Fenris asked.

"Of course I was, I was following Hawke."

“If I had to take a guess it seems you are attracting spirits even from outside of the Nightmare’s realm,” Dorian interjected, fastidiously wiping Fade dust from his robes.

“I had felt like this was too easy,” Lavellan quipped as she ambled on ahead.

"This is becoming almost routine for you, Inquisitor," Dorian said with a light laugh, as if they were strolling through Skyhold’s garden rather than a mind-rending realm of fear and dreams, "What will this be? The third time you've physically entered the Fade?"

"Fourth, actually."

Varric elbowed Fenris amicably in the ribs, "And we thought our adventures in Kirkwall were strange."

Fenris had to admit to himself that this group seemed just as inclined as their merry band in Kirkwall to take unfathomable arcane phenomenon in stride. His thoughts were then interrupted by a deep, dark laugh that rumbled forth like thunder, rattling them to their bones. There was a collective pause as the group twisted and turned to look about the landscape uneasily.

AH, LITTLE WOLF, YOU’VE COME TO JOIN YOUR MASTER AT LAST

"You will not rile my waking mind so easily, demon," was Fenris' snarled retort. He didn’t so much as start when the demon began to speak and promptly began to march ahead at a brisk, determined pace. Lavellan was quick to follow him with Dorian and Varric trailing behind.

SUCH A TURBULENT SOUL AND MIND, I WOULD HAVE YOU BOTH   
  
THEN YOU WOULD BE TOGETHER, WOULDN’T THAT BE NICE?

Fenris nearly balked at the almost delighted tone in the monster’s voice but his will was steel and he would not show weakness in front of it again. Confronting it awake and in control of himself it was just another abomination of magic to fight.

AND INQUISITOR, WE MEET AGAIN  
  
SO EAGER YOU ARE TO AID THIS RAGGED WOLF THAT SNAPS AT YOUR HAND AS YOU PINE FOR THE REGAL WOLF THAT WAS ONCE IN YOUR MIDST   
  


Lavellan’s cheeks noticeably flushed, she had caught herself comparing Fenris to Solas in her mind, although she was still unsure as to exactly why. Varric raised a brow in her direction and asked, “Is he talking about Chuckles? That analogy was stretched thin, Smiley, I wouldn’t call that one particularly ‘wolf-like.’” Fenris thought it was very much like Varric to nickname a primeval demon.

Another deep rumble of laughter seemingly shook the ground beneath them.

HOW LITTLE SHE KNOWS OF WITH WHAT SHE DALLIED   
  
YOU WERE A MEANS TO AN END, INQUISITOR

Another wave of fearlings began to crawl down the slick cliff sides surrounding them. This time the hated arachnids formed themselves into the Fog Warriors to Fenris’ eyes, their necks and limbs folding unnaturally as they shambled forth like possessed corpses, still familiar faces torn with wounds, blood pouring from their mouths and from the holes punched through their chests, accusations on their lips. There was a stricken sort of countenance hanging on his companions and Fenris could not begin to guess what it was they saw, save for Lavellan, who was evidently still seeing spiders if her loud complaints were to be believed.

But these too he knew to be false ghosts conjured by the Nightmare and cut his way through them, the shrieks of the demons piercing his ears. As the group dispatched the last of the creatures the Nightmare returned to its mockery.

AND YOU, VARRIC, ARE ALSO HERE TO ATONE?   
  
YOU WERE THE ONE WHO BROUGHT HAWKE TO ME, AFTER ALL

“Yeah you told me what a piece of shit I am last time too,” Varric grumbled as he retrieved an arrow from one of the demons, casually flicking its green guts onto the rocks, “The routine’s gotten old.”

“If you mean to wear down our resolve, demon, it won’t work,” Fenris growled into the ether, smashing a still twitching demon with the flat of his blade.

The accursed beast gave another deep rumble of derisive laughter.

HOW YOU POSTURE AND LIE TO YOURSELF, LITTLE WOLF, JUST AS YOU DID WHEN RUNNING FROM YOUR OLD MASTER

THEY ALL SEE YOU AS A PITIABLE CREATURE

  
“Just try to tune it out,” Lavellan advised, scraping demon blood off her blades before sheathing them again at her back, “It’s only baiting you.”   
  
Fenris knew as much, and yet defiantly shouting back at its constant torments was a compulsion he was unable to resist. He considered it the results of his past life of forced silence while being mocked and abused.

YOU MISTAKE FEALTY FOR LOVE, YOU ARE MERELY A STARVING STRAY LOYAL TO THE FIRST HUMAN TO PAY IT A SCRAP OF KINDNESS

“You flail with thoughts I've long since put to rest,” Fenris answered, glaring into the putrid green fogs around them. There was another maddening laugh, the creature was as smug as ever.

WERE YOU TRULY SO EAGER TO AGAIN BE IN THE BED OF A MAGE?

DO YOU DO FOR HIM ALL THE LOVELY THINGS YOU'D DO FOR DANARIUS?

Varric visibly flinched at the confirmation of what he had long only suspected. He attempted to mask it a moment too late; Fenris noticed and clenched his teeth in rage, sharply turning his face away from the others.

OH, HAWKE DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT THAT DOES HE?

Fenris growled in response to the demon’s delighted tone, “He does.”

The group shuffled along quietly following his terse reply. Fenris could feel their eyes upon him, he could feel their pity and didn’t want it. Only Hawke was allowed to come anywhere near that pain. Even the Nightmare had gone quiet for the time being, seemingly content to let the group’s tension pull tight. Eventually the heavy silence became so suffocating Varric couldn’t help but shatter it, “From what Hawke tells me you’re the one in charge most of the time anyway, elf.”

Varric grinned triumphantly as Fenris turned beet red to the tips of his ears, Dorian drawled out an “Oh my”, and Lavellan made a strangled sort of sound that could have been either an aborted laugh or a cry of disbelief.

“We should move on,” Fenris said hastily, quickening his steps ahead of the group and still refusing to look at any of them.

“Good show, Varric, I do believe you’ve utterly destroyed the dire atmosphere the Nightmare was cultivating,” Dorian said.

Though the landscape continually shifted around them, Fenris continued to lead the way as if possessed. It was not unlike the many times he had come here in his sleep, in each instance finding himself drawn to Hawke. Whether he was somehow reaching out with his mind, or it was a reaction of the lyrium pulsing under his skin, or even if the demon itself was leading him in order to trap him the means by which he navigated this dark realm held no interest to him. Finally, over the edge of a precipice ahead of them there was a soft glow playing off the surrounding mists. He could see where the unreal silken webs were attached to the jagged rock, surrounding statues, and various other imperfect imitations of reality. As the group stepped to the edge of the higher ground they could see the distant figure suspended at the center of it all.

“Shit!” Varric exclaimed, “Is that Hawke!?”

“Yes,” Fenris growled in affirmation, already moving  to edge his way down the slope.

Lavellan had begun to call to him to wait when more powerful fear demons began to appear, melting forth from the shadows and surrounding fog, aspects of the whole that had yet to manifest its massive form before them.

At first these creatures retained their monstrous appearance, all spindly arms and tattered skirts with a carapace arachnid legs at their backs, but Fenris soon found himself once again facing demonic versions of Danarius and Hadriana, which he summarily cut down.

A spell was shot at him from behind and rolled out of the way. Pivoting in his stance to meet his new enemy he jolted as he found himself face-to-face with Anders, momentarily forgetting the illusory nature of the Fade. Though the mage’s lips moved he did not produce sound, instead Fenris found his head filled with his voice, words bombarding him all at once, memories of things Anders has said as well as newly invented insults that he’d failed Hawke, that Hawke was wrong to love him, that Fenris would only get Hawke killed in the end. This figure too he cut down.

In the lull of battle he took a glance at how the others fared, all unflinching as they brought down their demons, though he could never know what visions they might be confronting. Sensing another approach he raised his blade and turned to meet the demon, but this time he was brought up short.

The figure only stood, wide green eyes staring back at him, a young elf with skin tanned by the Northern sun, shaggy black hair hanging in his face, and a plain leather collar around his neck. In one hand he grasped a longsword, his arm and legs were dyed red with blood that was likely not his own. He knew that this was the boy who gave himself over to be the weapon of a monster to save a family that would only continue to suffer in the end. This was Leto. The boy he never thought he’d recollect. The boy who died for his creation.

“Fenris!”

Lavellan’s shout startled him out of his reverie as her dagger plunged through the eye of his younger self, and the vision reverted to its monstrous form. Gasping sharply he looked down to find a jagged claw just an inch from his chest. The Inquisitor kicked the demon over the precipice and turned to him, wiping blood and sweat from her eyes.

“I’d be remiss to let you die from distraction now,” she said.

Before he could snap a response a terrible roar filled the air, shaking the ground violently around them. There was a thunderous racket of hard shell on stone as two gigantic arachnid legs arched over a higher plateau and dug into the ground. Lavellan planted a hand on Fenris’ back and all but shoved him down the slope toward the valley where Hawke was being held.

“GO!” she shouted, turning to face the Nightmare as it hefted its bulk into view, “We’ll hold it off. Go get Hawke!”

He spared a glance back, watching as she ran toward Varric and Dorian, all three preparing to face down that horrifying creature. As he found his footing and began to hurriedly make his way down the rocks he heard the Nightmare’s voice echoing from all directions once more.

YOU MAY NOT LIKE WHAT YOU FIND, LITTLE WOLF, I SHALL HAVE YOU BOTH IN TIME

He grit his teeth and paid it no heed, unsheathing his sword to cut away the webs keeping him from his quarry, pressing forward until he stood right below where Hawke was strung up just as Fenris had seen him with his sleeping eyes. Hawke's armor was battered and cracked in places, his hair greasy and unkempt, his body caked with dirt and dry blood. He had become thinner, his once chiseled muscles beginning to atrophy, and the momentary fear that Hawke might already be dead sent Fenris’ heart leaping to his throat. But then the mage began to stir, slowly lifting his head with what was clearly a great deal of effort.

“Oh not this again," Hawke said through an exasperated groan, rolling his head onto one shoulder.

Fenris stilled, brows furrowed in confusion.

   
“What?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to describe what I think the "song" might sound like but for some auditory aid imagine what you get when bad pop music is slowed down 800%: https://youtu.be/QspuCt1FM9M?t=26s
> 
> But with the speed of the chorus in the background of this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPpOx2kyU3M


	10. This Is Real

Hawke's head rolled down toward his chest for a moment before he lifted his chin toward the putrid skies. Instead of addressing Fenris he called up to the clouds with a disconcerting laugh, “How many times are you going to make me watch him die?”

Heart thundering in his chest Fenris hurried forward, standing almost directly below where Hawke was suspended. “Hawke, I am no illusion!" He shouted to the Champion, "I have come to free you from this!”

“That's a new one,” Hawke replied in a thick voice, “No red lyrium? No slavers? No dying alone in a wasteland? So what is it this time, are you going to make me to kill him again? Is that what you want!?” The Nightmare did not deign to answer; clearly its work had already been done.

Hawke was lowered by the strands of web tethered to his his arms and legs, slumping into a boneless, unmoving heap on the ground. Fenris made to hasten to his side only to be abruptly thrown by a powerful surge of force, his back hitting the jagged rocks hard as he tumbled across them, his sword wrenched from his hand by the impact. After a moment Hawke lurched to his feet and felt the well of his magic return to him fully, “I guess that's it,” he muttered.

Hawke slowly stretched his arms out to the sides, lightning gathering in his palms and crackling dangerously. His face held a strange mixture of mirth and despair he advanced on Fenris. “Maybe this is my punishment for all of my glorious failures,” Hawke quipped sadly, “Maker why won't you just let me die in peace?”

Fenris scrambled to his feet, mind racing as he studied the advancing mage. He left his blade on the ground, he wouldn’t draw it on Hawke, not again. As he backed away the landscape around them began to shift like mist along the surface of water. In turn it became Sundermount, and then the Wounded Coast, Hightown, then Skyhold, soon congealing into a confused mixture of them all.

"Hawke, I do not wish to fight you," Fenris warned as he circled away from his lover. Hawke, for his part, was only a half-hearted threat, trudging forward in a despondent march.

"Oh I'm sure you'll change your mind," Hawke said, his voice warbling as he broke into a pained grin, "I'm a mage, after all, I'll _inevitably fall to corruption_ ," he ended on a terrible impression of Fenris' voice and accent that would have been laughable under different circumstances.

“No. Not you. Never you,” Fenris protested, shaking his head, “You are not weak!”

Fenris quickly rolled out of the way as a bolt of lightning surged toward him. Sickly green smoke rose from the scorched ground where he had been standing, ghostly green flames spreading across the flickering illusion of grass.

"It's okay," Hawke murmured, his eyes glazing over, "I know the real you is back in our world, you'll be better off without me..."

"How can you say that!?" Fenris shouted, "Have you wanted to die!?"

"No," Hawke protested, nearly whining as he sometimes did when upset, "But maybe I should." Hawke lazily shot a few more bolts of lightning which Fenris easily dodged. He let the crackling electricity die and began to call on the earth instead, "Bethany, mother, even Carver," Hawke continued, "I let them all down. I let Kirkwall down. All those people- everyone treats me like a hero but what have I actually done!?" His arms flexed as he widened his stance and sent a stone fist crashing into a wall just next to Fenris' head, the bricks crumbling and vanishing into dust as they hit the ground.

Fenris braced himself and then surged forward, ducking under and around Hawke's next attacks until he was right up against the other man. He seized Hawke's wrists and held his arms out to the sides, his large green eyes searching his lover's face, "This isn’t you. That monster has poisoned your mind."

"Not me," Hawke echoed, going limp in his grasp, "It's always been me. Everyone expects so much, expects me to have the answers, but nothing I’ve done ever mattered. What good have I been to anyone?"

Fenris’ heart wrenched as he stared at the broken man before him. Hawke was always good at listening, patient and respectful as Fenris hesitantly related his thoughts, feelings and pieces of his past. It was usually on quiet, balmy nights as they lay comfortably in bed together at Hawke’s estate, or at some backwater inn later when they were on the run. In those moments Fenris felt shielded enough from his inner turmoil to give it voice.

But Hawke would wrap anything to do with himself in a joke. Fenris could sometimes sense when the threads that made up his lover had snagged and threatened to unravel, but Hawke would always patch it up with a big grin and a hearty display of bombast. A veneer the Champion so easily slid into place and Fenris never had the nerve to call attention to.

Now he wished he had, that he had realized Hawke was holding all of this razor sharp pain inside even as it frayed him. The thought shamed him, made him feel as if he had always been too wrapped up in his own abundant issues.

“You’re a good person, better than most,” Fenris said, readjusting his grip on Hawke’s wrists as the mage shook his head vehemently and struggled to pull away.

"You saved me," Fenris said firmly, offering the only assurance he could know for a fact, "Don't you ever forget that."

A flicker of confusion crossed Hawke's face before a bitter laugh rumbled through his chest. He turned his head away, seemingly speaking to the world around them, "Really laying it on thick this time."

Fenris gave a cry of frustration, " _Venhedis_ , Hawke, it's me! I'm really here! What will it take to convince you!?"

Hawke suddenly curled in on himself and stomped a foot onto the ground, another stone fist erupting between them and slamming into Fenris’ stomach, knocking him into a skid across a simulacrum of Kirkwall’s carved stone streets.

“This is getting old,” Hawke muttered, lurching toward him with a sigh, “I know he’s not really here. How could he be?”

Fenris staggered to his feet, coughing as he struggled to regain his breath, “Because I promised… I promised to remain at your side.”

Hawke halted in his steps, appearing conflicted and unsure once again, “No. I can’t give in. Every time it’s- it’s been-”

A calamitous noise drew their attention as the others appeared, skidding frantically down into the valley. The main body of the Nightmare was not far behind them, green gore oozing from its wounds and frenzied screams echoing through the crags as it clattered across the rocks.

“There you are!” Lavellan shouted as she lead Dorian and Varric at a run.

“Hawke!” Varric exclaimed, “Thank the Maker! We need to get out of here!”

Hawke’s eyes widened with fright as he backed away from the group, “Varric? And the Inquisitor?” His brows furrowed as he looked over to Dorian, “And... that poncy Tevinter?”

“You’re one to talk, Champion,” Dorian huffed.

“We’ve come to get you out!” Lavellan exclaimed as she scrambled to a stop, glancing over her shoulder at the descending monster and its many serrated legs.

“He is not himself,” Fenris stated, voice still strained as he held his arm against his middle.

As if to illustrate the elf’s point Hawke backed away a few more steps before dropping to his knees, his face cradled in his hands.

“Oh you went a long way to make me believe this one,” Hawke said with a half-manic laugh, “All the better when it comes crashing down.”

“Hawke, what in flames is wrong with you!?” Varric balked.

“He’s been here too long,” Dorian said with a note of empathy, “It must have been showing him a variety of illusions all this time. He can’t tell what’s real any longer.”

Hawke gave an annoyed groan, lifting his head out of his hands, “You know this is all getting far too philosophical for me,” He slumped back on his heels, lowering his head with another sigh, “I get it. You’re a clever demon, but I’m not going to fall for it again. Especially now,” he added with a lazy gesture towards the group, “ You gave yourself away having Fenris team up with a magister.”

“Altus!”

“Well, he’s not completely gone, “ Varric grumbled as he scrubbed one hand over his face, “Maker’s balls, drag him up if you have to! We’re kind of short on time here!”

“He may fight us if we try,” Fenris growled darkly. Lavellan turned her gaze to him, taking in his bruised and disheveled state.

“He attacked you?” She asked, biting her lip when Fenris nodded in affirmation.

“I hate to be a bother but something will have to be done about this quickly!” Dorian shouted, blasting back a leg of the Nightmare as it stabbed down at him.

“Snap him out of it! Tell him something only you would know, elf!” cried Varric as he rolled away from another one of the monster's attacking legs, shooting several bolts into it for good measure.  

“This is not some fanciful _story_ , dwarf!” Fenris snapped in return.

They both turned their heads when Lavellan barked out a surprisingly sour laugh. Now that really was familiar, she thought. She flipped away from an attack, glancing back at Fenris, “Just try it! We have to get him moving!”

Fenris turned back to Hawke, approaching him cautiously, “And what can I say to him that the Nightmare has not already extracted from his mind!?”

“Just think of something!” Lavellan's irate shout was a somewhat distant echo now as she darted about, distracting the demon as she, Dorian and Varric drew it back away from the two.

Fenris swallowed, stroking Hawke's cheek with his hand as he crouched down before him, “I was once called Leto,” he ventured, to not much effect. Hawke already knew this and the Nightmare undoubtedly would as well. He tried again with a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, “I would have returned with Danarius had you not been at my side.”

There was a flicker of emotion in Hawke's face this time and he looked up at Fenris, eyes glassy, his mind still closed off in an act of self-preservation. A fear ultimately wouldn’t do, for what else had the Nightmare been showing Hawke? Fenris wet his lips nervously, if there was ever a time for him to say it, it was now. He closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath, and once he began the words poured out of him almost uncontrollably.

“I am here. I am real. I brook no half-truths, I meant it when I said nothing would keep me from you. I have only told you in so many other words what I took for granted you knew at heart: I love you,” he took a shuddering breath, watching as Hawke's eyes began to regain their life, “I should have said it years ago. I knew it was what you dearly wished to hear but I thought- I thought there would be time enough. As always I prove myself to be a fool.”

Hawke was looking at him now, _really_   looking at him. Tears began to form in the mage's tired eyes, and when he spoke it was practically a whisper, “Fenris... I want to believe this is real.”

Fenris swallowed back the lump in his throat and grasped Hawke's hands, easily pulling the larger man to his feet.

“Come,” He commanded with a slight tremble in his voice, “We must leave this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a giant cornball and I'm not sorry.


	11. Escape

Fenris had at last retrieved his weapon and was leading Hawke through the Fade. Although he was practically tugging him along by the hand Hawke was growing increasingly less feeble as they walked. In fact the haggard mage kept staring at Fenris, reaching out several times with his free hand to brush his shoulder or touch his hair, as if to reassure himself his lover was in fact real and had rescued him. Fenris couldn’t help the slight smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s alright, Hawke. I am still here.”

Hawke nodded his head numbly and took a nervous glance around the landscape as if worried it could shift any moment, that he’d be thrown back into one of the Nightmare’s cruel plays.

"I'm sorry," Hawke said suddenly.

Fenris cast a bemused look back at him, "Since when do you still apologize for touching me?"

"No, I mean sorry for all... this," Hawke replied with an emphatic gesture to the dreamscape around them, "For leaving you, for getting myself stuck here. I even- I even attacked you. With _magic!_ I could have killed you, could you ever forgive-"

Fenris stopped in his tracks and turned to him, glaring as he firmly placed a finger to Hawke's lips. "I will not lie and say that I am not angry," he said, staring hard into Hawke's eyes, "But all that matters is I have you again."

Hawke slumped in relief and gave a wobbly little smile, "You're always angry."

“Now that _is_ a lie,” the elf huffed.

“If this is a trick then you’re the most authentic the Nightmare’s made yet.”

"You still have doubts this is real," Fenris remarked, raising one brow.

"Less and less," Hawke replied, "In everything it showed me it never could get your odd brand of sweet austerity down."

Fenris’ cheeks colored slightly but before he could come up with a clever retort a high-pitched roar drew both of their attentions to the rumbling rocks nearby. One of the Nightmare’s massive claws rose up over the jagged stone before them and flung a small shape through the air. Fenris only realized it was Lavellan when the Inquisitor landed squarely on her back at his feet.

“Hello,” she croaked with a small cough, “I see you have Hawke.”

“Yes,” Fenris responded, frowning at the realization he’d left the slight young rogue as the only melee fighter against an ancient menace of untold power. Lavellan, however, seemed no worse for wear as she pressed the ground with her elbows, kicked out with her legs and hopped to her feet, putting her daggers back in their sheathes as she landed.

“This is bad,” she said, “It’s most certainly blocking our way back to the eluvian.”

“How did you escape it before?” Fenris inquired.

“We left Hawke behind to distract it, remember?”

“Oh.”

Varric next appeared over the hill, performing a surprisingly agile flip before sliding down the slope on his feet. Dorian soon followed, performing a Fade step to avoid a particularly nasty strike from one of those man-sized arachnid claws, cursing loudly in Tevene as he left a wall of flames behind him and joined the others.

Fenris peered at each part of the exhausted group in turn and wondered what they would do. He hadn’t had much of an end goal beyond ‘get Hawke’ and he'd barely even considered the aftermath in which they’d inevitably need to get away from the creature. He glanced over at Hawke and saw the mage was flagging, what little strength he had appearing to leave him as he hunched in on himself once more. Fenris instinctively pulled him closer, standing with him shoulder to shoulder. The Nightmare's dark laughter once more rent the air as the creature pulled its bulk up onto the rocks and towered above them.

LIKE INSECTS CAUGHT IN A WEB

Varric groaned tiredly, "Not even I would write something so corny."

"Yes you would," Lavellan responded, her quip not quite able to mask the anxiety in her voice. She stared the creature down, worrying at her lower lip as her mind flipped through a dozen half-baked plans of escape.

Hawke lowered his head with a sigh, "You can't fight it," he muttered, "I should know. I tried."

"Come on, Hawke, the elf's supposed to be the fatalistic one," Varric joked without much heart to it.

Fenris gave Hawke's hand a hard squeeze, scowling at the man as he said, "I did not come this far to lose you again now." He then slowly slid his hand from Hawke's, turning toward the Nightmare, his brands flaring to life as he strode forward.

“What are you doing, elf, are you crazy!?” Varric shouted after him.

Another maddening laugh filled the sky. Before the creature a greater Fear demon melded into being from the rock, forming itself again into a monstrous image of Danarius.

"You make great use of the gifts you claim to hate," the phantom mocked, "How proud you were once to be the product of my work. Without me you'd be just another scrawny little wretch toiling away. I made you into a wolf."

From the corner of his eye Fenris could see Hawke straighten up and glare hatefully at the figure. There were precious few times he’d ever seen his lover so livid and so he surmised the others must have heard and saw what he was seeing. Undeterred he marched straight up to the image of his former master and plunged his arm into it, the lyrium glow drawing seams along its body until finally it burst in an explosion of viscous green fluids.

"Shut up."

The Nightmare swung one of its claws down toward his head but he unleashed a pulse of dark magic from the markings that sent it reeling back, one note of the song ringing loudly enough in his ears to send a rattling ache through his teeth and the hollows of his skull. He let the Fade continue to feed freely into the lyrium, toes digging hard into the ground to find purchase, to keep himself upright even as the immense pressure of the energy weighed down on him. The lines tracing along his body shone more brilliantly than had ever before, raw magical energy billowing off his skin like mist. He sank into a low stance and drew his blade before rushing forward with a battle cry, loud and vicious to alleviate the pain. The song burst to life around him, thrummed in time with his movements, a resonant melody that accompanied the dance of battle. It was an incredible feeling, but he was so dizzied by the pain of the markings and the sheer amount of power coursing through his body he could do little more than fight with blind instinct.

Shadows began to appear in his wake, demons knocking on the edges of the Nightmare’s realm, drawn to his lyrium and seeking entry. A Desire demon whispering to him that he could just take Hawke and leave the others behind. A Pride demon offering him the power to take revenge on the Inquisition. A Rage demon offering him the ability to tear apart the Nightmare with his bare hands. He ignored them all as he spun into his swings and launched himself into the air, managing to sever one of the monster’s legs, and then another. The beast pitched to one side, the force of its enraged shriek raining gore and venom down on him.

Fenris became dimly aware of the others joining the fray, from the corner of his eye he saw even Hawke fighting, flinging fire and lightning from his hands. A Despair demon scratched at the borders from another part of the Fade, reminding him of his distrust of mages. A Fear demon joined in to remind him of how Hawke had attacked him, trying to convince him he’d never be safe. He grit his teeth and drew in more power, ignoring the treacherous whispers as he launched himself toward the monster again. Guided by the song he was able to attune his abilities, refining the sound into an aria that was unique to his own manipulation of the Fade. Light ran like quicksilver through the markings and every single line could be seen, even through his clothing. His body became little more than a shadow beneath it all, save for where his elven eyes reflected the light back.

He could see Dorian gesture to him and say something to Lavellan that caused the Inquisitor to look upon him with growing alarm. Even Varric was regarding him warily now, but he found he could no longer hear their voices over the swell of the song, the buzzing in his ears and the whispers of the demons. He had trouble spotting Hawke beyond the haze of his own light, but the crackles of magic nearby told him the Champion was still fighting.

The build up of energy within the markings became too much and it exploded forth from him in another pulse that sent several distant floating rocks to go crashing into a mountain. It was then he heard a short burst of laughter above the din, light and lilting like a child’s. Creatures not made of shadow but of light were gathering outside the peripheries of the realm, tapping at the thinning walls of unreality. Unfamiliar voices began to join the demon’s whispers, there was no temptation but curiosity, encouragement, some extolling the virtue of bravery or justice.  Suddenly, and with a thunderous noise, the sky cracked open above them. The Nightmare screeched as a golden light poured into its realm and all variety of beings found their way in. Fenris never before considered, nor cared about, the supposed difference between spirits and demons. But many of the things that appeared through the splintered gaps in the air were certainly of a different quality than the arachnid horrors in tattered cloaks they had seen up until now.

Lavellan uttered a rather undignified yelp as she scrambled back from one of the golden ghosts that drifted past, her eyes as large as dinner plates, “ _What_ is going on!?”

“The Nightmare’s realm is collapsing!” Dorian shouted with a cadence of academic awe, “Too many spirits hammering on it, I suspect. They’re all reshaping this part of the Fade.”

Fenris had no delusions that they could actually kill the Nightmare but he watched with some satisfaction as the hated beast’s realm was thrown into chaos. Parts of the dreaming world around them cracked and fell away as if they were a glass reflection that had never been a traversable space at all. Still other parts began to shift and change in auras around each spirit as a reflection of their nature.

He felt a jolt of pain and stabbed his greatsword into the ground to lean upon it, grimacing with effort as he struggled to quiet the markings. Slowly they began to dim and he looked less like a ghost. His fingers dug into the hilt of his blade as the markings flashed several times, expelling several more dust-like bursts of magic before finally fading into a pale glow. They were still pulsing slightly when he made to turn to the others, his words dying on his lips as a fresh wave of dizziness struck him and he fell backwards. His vision went dark but before he could hit the ground a pair of arms wrapped securely around his chest, holding him on his feet. The shadows passed from his eyes, his breath labored and the markings aching badly, his muscles throbbing painfully beneath them. He felt a pair of lips brush his ear and heard Hawke whisper, “That was beautiful.”

In spite of himself, and of the danger, he felt the tips of his ears burn. He lifted one hand and stroked his fingers along Hawke’s cheek, twisting in the mage’s arms to look up at him. A brilliant smile spread across Hawke’s face and he leaned in to kiss Fenris, only to miss and instead smack their noses together when he was suddenly shouldered aside by Lavellan.

“You two can kiss and make up later!” The Inquisitor shouted as she raced past them like a startled Halla.

“I’m with her Inquizitorialness! We need to get out of here!” Varric said, prodding Hawke in the back with Bianca as he ran up to them.

Fenris made a valiant effort to take a step forward but instead fell weakly against Hawke. It was the Champion’s turn to take Fenris’ hand and lead him forward, the tired warrior barely able to keep his head up.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Hawke, “You won’t be leaving yourself behind for me.”

Fenris longed to call him a hypocrite and an idiot but couldn’t quite summon the energy. Dorian took up position at the back of the group, casting a barrier over all four of them while keeping a studious but wary eye on the spirits. They remained in a huddled cluster as they made their way to the mirror as swiftly as they could, carefully staying beyond the notice of the various Fade beings now invading the space. Finally they reached the eluvian and Lavellan eagerly took a running leap through it. Varric stepped up and all but shoved Hawke and Fenris past the frame before following himself, Dorian close on his heels.

As the group stumbled back into the room at Skyhold Varric fell to his hands and knees to literally kiss the ground. Dorian flopped onto his back beside the dwarf and said, “As fascinating as the Fade is let’s never do that again.”

A rather startled Vivienne took one look at the swirling mess in the vision behind them and raised her hands to snap the eluvian shut. Cassandra was already at the Inquistor’s side inspecting her friend and leader for injury, which Lavellan was wearily submitting to much like a child with a fussy mother.

Hawke had collapsed to his knees almost immediately upon crossing the threshold and Fenris had fallen with him, his arms wrapping tight around the mage's middle as he buried his face in Hawke's chest. Hawke breathed in the stale air, felt the dust burn his throat, felt the cool of the stones beneath his legs, heard the birds chirping faintly outside the walls and wondered how he could have thought anything in the Fade was real. And Fenris was still there, still real, warm and trembling with exhaustion against him, arms braced hard enough to bruise Hawke's ribs. Hawke smiled, tasting salt on his lips, carding his fingers through Fenris' hair as he said, “My shiny knight in armor.”

The muffled sound Fenris made was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, “You are ridiculous.”

Vivienne tapped the surface of the eluvian a few times as if to ensure it wouldn’t spring back to life and unleash an army of demons, then tried to hide the smile on her face as she looked the group over critically, “Well, it seems your venture was successful after all.”

“Immensely so,” Dorian commented as he finally sat up, “In fact I’m a little jealous, although Hawke is wasted on someone as unromantic as him.”

Hawke snickered, much to Fenris’ chagrin, but the elf couldn’t find the strength to response. Hawke was finally safe and everything was right with his world again. Exhaustion and relief coalesced and Fenris found he was no longer able to keep his eyes open, passing out on Hawke’s shoulder into what was thankfully a dreamless sleep.

Hawke cradled the unconscious elf gently, not in much better shape himself and unable to stand under his own power. Varric chuckled fondly as he walked over to the couple, wiping what was certainly not an errant tear from one eye, “He wasn't about to let you go, Hawke. I think you might be stuck with him.”

Hawke gave a hoarse laugh as he wrapped his arms around Fenris, giving him a tight squeeze, “I think you might be right.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue!


	12. Epilogue

Fenris awoke to a dull ache throughout his entire body and a hazy feeling that he'd been asleep for days. He blinked back the light and color swimming before his bleary eyes until it formed itself into the small bedroom he had been staying in at Skyhold. He could hear the bustle of the busy grounds below the window, voices carrying, swords clashing as the soldiers trained. He could glimpse the ramparts and the ever-autumn color of the trees as he squinted against the late morning sun.

Fine linen brushed against his skin and he came to find he was now clad in simple clothing. He had also bathed, or had been bathed, no trace was left of the filth from a frantic battle that now seemed little more than an unpleasant dream. Instinctively he raised his right hand, satisfied when he saw the red sash was still tied to his wrist.

Slowly he became aware of warmth beneath him, that an arm was wrapped securely around one side of his body and that his head was rested against a familiar broad chest clad in a soft nightshirt. Almost disbelievingly he peered up at Hawke's sleeping face.

Fenris reached out with his hand and ran his fingers along Hawke's jaw, causing the Champion to shift slightly and give a little sniff of protest. Having confirmed that Hawke was in fact real and the hard won rescue had indeed occurred Fenris pulled himself up, straddling the mage's lap, and tugged hard on his shirt. Hawke's eyes fluttered open and his lips pulled into an apologetic grin as he met Fenris' glare.

“I am still angry with you,” Fenris brooded.

“I know,” Hawke replied.

Fenris captured his lips in a desperate kiss; there would be time enough to argue.

 

For the next several weeks Hawke and Fenris were honored guests of Skyhold. Rumors were abound almost immediately and the tale only grew more outlandish with each telling, no doubt thanks to Varric. Fenris scowled at a gaggle of Orlesian maidens who all tittered as he passed, whispering amongst themselves about the mysterious brooding hero who had risked it all in the rescue of his dashing love, who was no less than the famous Champion of Kirkwall. Rolling his eyes as hard as he was able he continued his stroll to Varric’s table in the Great Hall, laying out a plate of breakfast for both himself and Hawke. The Champion was swaying slightly in his seat, staring dreamily into space and Fenris smirked slightly in his direction as he took the seat beside him.

“You're still recovering, Hawke. I hope the elf is letting you get enough sleep,” Varric said, smirking as he tapped the side of his neck to indicate where he spied a few rather conspicuous marks on Hawke's own.

Hawke gave a snort in response, selecting a piece of bacon from the plate, “I've had enough of the Fade for a lifetime, I'd rather return there as little as possible.”

Fenris stared pointedly at the far wall, his expression unreadable, “Mind your own business, Varric.”

Varric took a glance at Fenris' plate, laden as it was with meats and a couple of apples; the elf had certainly regained his appetite since Hawke's return. And Varric wasn’t about to let go of any opportunity to pester him. "That's a surprisingly hearty breakfast for you, elf," Varric remarked casually, "You expend a lot of energy last night?"

"Shut up, dwarf,” Fenris answered, taking an irritated sip of his mug of cider, which the past few mornings he had insisted was a perfectly appropriate breakfast drink.

Hawke grinned mischievously and practically draped himself from Fenris’ much slimmer shoulders. He made a show of nuzzling the elf’s neck while Fenris sat stock still and moodily refused to reciprocate. “Well he's barely been able to keep his hands off me since we got back. Not that he'll admit it,” Hawke said while briefly sticking his tongue out at his lover.

“Shut up, Hawke,” Fenris replied, more affectionately this time and with a hint of a smile, taking another sip from his mug.

Just then the doors to the hall banged open and all eyes looked on in surprise as a man in unmistakable blue and silverite armor sauntered in. Whispers at the sight of an unfamiliar Grey Warden echoed along the stone walls, but the three men sitting at the table closest to the door recognized him as something else entirely.

"Carver!" Hawke called out jovially, leaning back in his chair and enthusiastically waving his hands over his head, ever eager to be the embarrassing older sibling.

“Brother!” The younger man called in return as he walked toward the table, “I had heard your pet elf dragged you back to the land of living.”

Fenris instantly bristled, “I am not his-"

And he was summarily ignored by Carver who quickly made his way over to shake Hawke by the shoulders, “We all thought you were dead, you ass!”

“And here I was hoping to make my grand appearance at Weisshaupt and surprise you!” Hawke quipped.

“What? So you can be the center of attention like always?” Carver asked with a lopsided grin before his face fell and with a pained sigh he bent down to pull Hawke into a hug. Hawke wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulders and tugged him a little closer.

"Seriously. I’m not ready to be the last Hawke," Carver said, "Never do that again."

“I concur,” Fenris added with a snort and an emphatic bite of one of his apples.

“And _you!_ ” Carver exclaimed, pulling away from Hawke and turning to Fenris. He clapped a hand down on the elf’s shoulder, squeezing gently and fixing him with a sincere look of gratitude, "Thank you for taking care of my idiot brother. Maker knows putting up with him is a fate no one deserves."

"Since when did you start thinking _you're_ the funny one?" Hawke whined loudly.

Fenris meanwhile mumbled something incoherent and glanced away shyly, attempting to mask the overwhelming rush of warmth he felt with another bite of the apple.

“ _Family. So this is what it feels like._ ”

Fenris sighed in frustration as the brothers both gawked at the blonde young man partially hidden by a ridiculously large hat who was now sitting on the table and helping himself to an apple.

“What in flames is that?” Carver asked dully.

“It is- He- Just pay no mind,” Fenris grumbled.

“Hey, kid, we’ve talked about how to sit at a table,” Varric chided lightly, not at all surprised by Cole’s appearance and sounding more amused than anything. Cole murmured an apology and slid down, sitting cross-legged in a chair instead as he nibbled at the fruit in his hand.

“I think I like apples too,” the rambling boy said happily.

“This place is weird,” Hawke remarked.  

"Speaking of," Carver said, also helping himself to a bit of their meal, much to Fenris' annoyance, "I was actually on my way to Weisshaupt when I heard you’d come back, finally convinced Aveline I was fit for travel, no longer hearing voices and all," he chewed some meat contemplatively before adding, "Well, no more than a Warden usually does."

“That is so reassuring, little brother.”

“The point is if you were planning to go to Weisshaupt anyway I suppose I could let you come along.”

Hawke's face lit up as he made what was somehow an extremely facetious gesture, “A Warden escort to their headquarters? How fancy! I think I’m moving up in the world.”

Carver made a show of rolling his eyes, “If you’re going to be insufferable the entire journey I take it back.”

Fenris shook his head at their antics, returning to his cider. Hawke then turned to him and asked with an encouraging grin, “Well, what would you say to a new adventure, love?”

Fenris smiled in return, slowly lowering the cup from his lips as he said, “I remain at your side.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah originally the epilogue was just that first paragraph and then Carver fuckin' Hawke kicked down the door and decided he was in this story now. idk
> 
> Thanks for reading! It's done! But not quite done. I also wrote a one-shot follow up to the story called [Big Wolf, Little Wolf](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5002897) where Fenris has a tense conversation with you-know-who.


End file.
